Murder is a gateway drug
by julyheat
Summary: Sequel to "The odd tale of Amelia Holmes." Amelia is curious when Mycroft asks her to kill 5 men shortly after opening her bakery. She investigates further into her list, only to realize that what she uncovers goes much deeper than anything she has encountered before. Can she balance assassination, romance, and business? John X OC implied Lestrade/Molly. Rated T for swearing.
1. Chapter 1

Amelia ducked her head as she avoided her target's kicking right foot. _Who the hell is this? Gonzales? No, that was last week. This must be the Haitian, Montase. Funny how everyone looks the same in the complete darkness. _She quickly lifted her hands, grasped his upraised foot, and jerked him off balance. He fell on his side, howling in pain as he landed on her conveniently placed knife. Amelia rolled him to his stomach and placed her foot, currently encased in a rather fabulous pair of peacock blue heels, on the back of his neck. "I keep telling you people to leave me the hell alone" Amelia practically spitted at him in Egyptian. "Moriarty had me against my will. If you want revenge, get it against someone who wanted to work with that psycho."

"Who are you talking about? I don't even know you, how can I be seeking revenge against a person that I do not know?" The man's voice reeked with desperation.

Amelia wished that she could see his face to determine if he was telling the truth or not. But the icy feeling that was starting to run through her veins suggested that she believed him on a rudimentary level. She decided that further interrogation was necessary. Her plans were dashed when, as soon as some weight was lifted off his neck, the target reached for the knife and attempted to slice her Achilles heel. Amelia mentally sighed and pushed her stiletto heel in between two of his vertebrae. _Pity, I just had these cleaned. And now who am I supposed to interrogate? It's not like dead men talk. Mycroft? Yeah right, I'd have more luck with the dead man. _Considering the evening, Amelia decided that it will be ending on a mixed note. As she bent over to retrieve her knife, she heard some very familiar voices. Smiling, Amelia knew exactly who she could turn to.

Lately, John Watson was not a fan of how easily adaptable Sherlock Holmes was. The last time Sherlock was this bored; John had to hide the bullets to his gun. Mrs. Hudson charged the men twice every time there was a new bullet hole in her wall, once for the repairs and once to cover the emotional damage of being startled with every gunshot. Neither Sherlock nor John questioned this. The unfortunate difference between the two was that John preferred that Sherlock just stopped shooting the damn wall. Sherlock preferred to pay the extra charges and after having his bullets taken from him almost two years ago, kept a secret stash somewhere in the flat. So, this evening, John somehow talked Sherlock into taking a walk.

John determined that it was the worst decision he'd ever made.

"John, why are we walking where there are no people? This is boring. I thought we were walking to distract me from my boredom. Let's go by people, John, I feel the need to deduce. Tonight may be the night that I might actually find someone surprising instead of dull."

"We are walking away from people because I cannot trust that you won't say something offensive to the next dull individual we stumble across."

"I wouldn't do that."

"You already did and have the handprint on your face as proof."

"Is that why my cheek stings a bit? I was wondering."

"You honestly deleted that already?"

"Not worth remembering, John. That space could be used for more important information, like who is on the roof of that church?"

"What?" John turned his head toward the darkened church.

Sure enough, there was a figure dragging an object toward the bell tower. Without speaking, John and Sherlock ran to the building. "How'd they get in?" yelled John.

"I suppose they might have gone through the backdoor seeing as how it is wide open."

"Oh shut up, Sherlock. My eyes aren't what they used to be."

"Ah, the receding skills of the elderly, you know, eyesight is actually the second ability to deteriorate as you age."

"What's the first?"

"Can't remember."

Their conversation ceased once they walked through the open door. Sherlock led John behind the pulpit and to the discreet set of stairs. Climbing up, Sherlock pointed at the ladder that would take them to the catwalk and started up. Judging by the dust, John figured that the only use for the catwalk was to replace the light bulbs. Still, it was useful as John heard the approaching footsteps and the subsequent dragging of whatever the figure had. John knew Sherlock was hoping for a dead body and frankly, so did John. Their curiosity was soon fulfilled when the corpse of a man dropped in front of their feet. Looking up, both men gaped at the face that popped up over the rafters. Amelia smiled sweetly and waved. "Hi guys, I heard you were bored."

Neither John nor Sherlock uttered a sound as Amelia climbed down like a seasoned gymnast. She stared back at the duo as she slipped her heels back on. "Out for a late night stroll?"

"Amelia, what the fuck?" Sherlock had apparently found his voice again. "Mycroft told you to stop your little assassin business. He can barely keep you safe as it is!"

"Ah, dear brother, it appears there are happenings that you are unaware of. I will fill you in on all of it for a price."

"Which is?"

"I need your help."

The walk back to Baker Street went remarkably quickly. Initially, Sherlock wanted to dispose of the body before it was discovered during tomorrow morning's mass. Once Amelia admitted that Mycroft would have his people take care of it, Sherlock grabbed her by the elbow and practically ran her back to his flat. Amelia scarcely had time to text Mycroft the details before she found herself barreling into 221B and flung on the couch. Sherlock and John sat at their respective chairs, both with looks of steely resignation. "Alright, start from the beginning."

So Amelia did.

Six months earlier.

Amelia stretched the kink out of her neck as she slid in the last tray. She couldn't remember the last time she made Bakewell Tarts, but opening day of her new bakery, The Sweet Retreat, seemed appropriate. "So tell me again why we aren't filling this case?"

Following her gaze to the source of the query, Amelia looked at her new barista, Jane. In addition to the irony of it, Amelia hired the small blonde when she rattled off the recipe for every coffee drink that Amelia could offer. It also helped that Jane's boyfriend, Colin, worked for The London Tea Company and promised to be Amelia's personal contact for ordering supplies. At 5 foot even and elven features, Jane appeared to be sweet and unassuming, until one realized that Jane was the youngest child and only daughter in a household of 8 brothers. That very morning, when Amelia picked Jane up from home, she witnessed Jane picking up two of her teenage nephews and physically threw them back in the house. Amelia had no reservations about Jane's ability to do the duties of the job. "Most of our breakfast items can't be put in the bake case so we'll finish filling the case later this morning."

As Jane nodded her accession, Amelia ran through her mental list. She should have all of the ingredients for at least 3 different flavors of fairy cakes, 2 different tarts, and 5 biscuits. Amelia could not help but feel like she was missing something when the door opened. Her first customer was a middle aged man in a non-designer suit. Amelia had him pegged within seconds. _He's in middle management with lazy staff and a micromanaging boss. The man has delusions of grandeur, which explains his suit. Purchased at a discount shop that specializes in replicating new styles with cheap fabrics and practically slave labor. This man is going to be a pain in my ass._ He scanned the bake case. "Where are your croissants?"

_Oh fuck._ Amelia mentally steeled herself. "I'm sorry sir. But unfortunately, my supplier did not deliver my preferred ingredients for croissants. Hopefully they will be here tomorrow."

"WHAT! I cannot start my day without a croissant! What kind of imbecile are you that you can't make a croissant? Now my day is ruined because of you!"

Amelia took a deep breath and gripped her hands under the counter. She had already thought of three ways of killing this self-important douchebag. _Throw the freshly brewed coffee in his face and stab him in the jugular with the plastic menu holder. Face plant him through the glass of the bake case, but that would be quite the costly move. Finally, use the piping bag for frosting, jam it under the skin, and blow in a substantial air bubble. _"Again, I apologize, but there is nothing I can do when the supplier is out of certain ingredients and…"The man refused to listen to another word and stormed out of the door as a young couple walked in. "Don't even bother here. It is run by utter morons!"

Jane watched him leave and shook her head. "He must have a breezy life if a lack of a croissant destroys his entire day."

Taking another deep breath, Amelia counted to ten before smiling at the new customers. "Sorry you had to see that, apparently that man has an unhealthy attachment to croissants."

The young couple seemed unruffled. "Quite alright" responded the male counterpart. "What would you recommend instead?"

They settled for two Scotch eggs and a tart to go. As they turned to go, the woman turned her head. "Don't let that jerk get you down either, this place looks quite amazing."

Amelia breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much, tell your friends!"

After the surprising morning rush, Amelia sat in her office and confirmed with her supplier that her croissant ingredients will be at the bakery by the next day. She leaned back and closed her eyes. Amelia had spent the better part of the last year getting her business running. There were so many regulations that she had to work around. She was extremely close to just giving up at least 4 or 5 times but kept going out of sheer stubbornness. Amelia needed this bakery to function as it was her only cover from Mycroft. Her older brother was being infuriatingly silent about the group who was planning Amelia's imminent demise. Amelia could not expel any creative energy, well, creative to her. At the end of the day, Amelia knew that the bakery would be worth it and she would start hunting down her would-be assassins. But for now, she was just so bloody bored. And when Amelia got bored and was unable to get into some trouble, she was forced to think about her life, specifically, John.

She really did not want to think about her and John until they figured out whatever it was they were doing. But then again, they were not doing anything. Then that would mean that they were nothing. Before Amelia could fully submerge herself into a pity party, the call with the supplier ended. Amelia practically ran out of her office and into the front. "Please tell me that there is another rush."

Jane was bent over the front counter. "No, nothing, not one person. I'm going to waste away!" Jane slid herself off the counter, landed on the floor, and dramatically draped her arms over her face.

Amelia gazed impassively at her barista. "Please wash your hands when you get up. I'd hate to break a health regulation on my first day."

The front door opened. "Thank god!" cried Jane, hopping up. "What can I get for you, sir?"

Before the man could answer, Amelia piped up. "He will have black tea, no sugar, and some dry toast. He's on a diet."

Jane glared at her boss. "Why not try our breakfast special? It is much more delicious." And twice the cost.

"I'm afraid my dear brother is on a diet. Hello, Mycroft."

Mycroft nodded a greeting at both Amelia and Jane. He shifted the stack of files from on hand to the other. "Actually, just the tea for me. Amelia, could we meet in your office? I have some important information to go over with you."


	2. Making a deal

**Hi Guys!**

**Sorry about the odd placement of the chapter break between 1 and 2. Perhaps someday, I will fix it.**

**So, I am almost positive that I will be posting on Mondays and Thursdays, but I am participating in NaNoWriMo, so bear with me!**

**Another thing, due to the subject matter that our future villian(s?) is involved in, I do have to let you know that all the names are fictional and any similarities to actual people is just a coincidence.**

**I do not own: Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Anthea, Molly, Lestrade, or any characters from the BBC show. The rest are mine, all mine!**

**Please review. It does make my day shine a bit brighter, which helps now that it is getting darker much earlier!**

Mycroft followed Amelia into her office. He took some time to appreciate that, despite being a small room in a bakery, Amelia managed to paint and decorate her office to look cozy and warm instead of cramped. The far wall was lined with shelves with the bottom shelf jutting out more so that it could be used as a desk. By choosing to run her operations on an iPad and a mobile, Amelia did not have to be concerned with cluttering her desk with necessary machines. The walls were painted a cheery but soft yellow and there were framed pictures of vintage advertisements, though Amelia added thought bubbles of what she believe the models in the photos were actually thinking. Mycroft's personal favorite was an ad for a vehicle with a pin-up girl saying, "Ran into my ex, so I put it in reverse and hit him again." He hoped the relations between Amelia and John become unstrained soon, otherwise that photo would be seemingly less amusing. "I do like the advances they are making with technology, very helpful for the small business owners, don't you agree?" Mycroft looked at Amelia, who had somehow managed to extract the files out of his hand while he was distracted. "I guess that we are ending our pleasantries."

"Good to see you, dear brother, how has running the British government been treating you?" Amelia did not bother to look up from the profile of Jose Marquez.

"Aside from a slightly concerning issue in Syria, I would say that things have been quite typical. There was actually an amusing exchange between Anthea and the UN representative from Amsterdam…" Mycroft trailed off, unsure if Amelia was actually interested.

"Does it include Anthea finally looking up from her Blackberry? Or did she manage to mangle a man without stopping her text?"

"I assume that it would be quite similar to attempting to hold a conversation while reading files on murderous men?"

Amelia finally looked up. "My apologies, but I have been waiting for this information for some time now."

Mycroft waved off her words, "I wanted to make sure that every detail was correct. I do not want you running after these people without just cause."

Amelia's brow furrowed. "All of the targets are men."

"Problem?"

"It is surprising. I killed quite a few people of both genders while under Moriarty's thumb, so I just assumed that I would have female enemies. Also, women make fine assassins. They already know how to manipulate their appearance and how to deflect unwanted advances. I've actually never come across a list of targets that did not include at least one woman."

Mycroft shrugged. "Out of the twenty six separate threats against you a year ago, there are only five people that are still targeting you. Perhaps it just so happens that these five did not understand that you performed against your will. I'm sure that is a concept that women might comprehend more than men."

"I appreciate your stab at feminism, Mycroft, but you need to assume that women are just as bloodthirsty and can hold a grudge just as well as men. Besides, the idea that humans perform heinous acts while under an authority is not new. There are psychological studies that date back to the 1950's that highlight such a thing. Dr. Philip Zimbardo had to scrap his entire prison experiment because both himself and the prison guard subjects broke multiple ethical guidelines by exerting power over the other prisoner subjects and the power of authority was minimal at best. There is something about these names that aren't sitting right with me."

Mycroft snatched the files back. "Fine, if you do not want to be involved, I understand, much prefer it actually. I will get some of my other people on this instead."

Amelia could feel a headache coming on, "I didn't say that I don't want to be involved. You just said that you want to make sure that all of the details are correct. I figured that you would want to know if I felt there is something unusual about this."

"I am only entertaining this ridiculous notion of you continuing your assassination skills because you said that you wanted to help. These men will not stop until you are dead and probably in multiple pieces. So yes, I made bloody well sure the details are spot on. I cannot wait until you decide that they are the 'right' people to kill."

"I didn't think you had it in you, Mycroft. Cursing?"

"I'm afraid that I am rather impatient to finish this. Aren't you?"

"Of course I am. Do you really think that I have been standing idly by? For once, Mycroft, I would love to sleep for an entire night. I would be absolutely tickled if I could just walk into my flat, throw the lock and call myself protected. And it would delight me to no end to finally have relationships without the perpetual fear of you all being used as weapon against me."

Mycroft stared Amelia in the eye. "Well, we have our targets. Why don't you finally finish this?"

The sense that there was more to this list than what Mycroft was letting on persisted. She knew that Mycroft did not make idle threats. If she continued to question these men, Mycroft would immediately shut down and walk out with the hope that Amelia would ever truly feel safe. _But there is something about these names that just do not add up. I know them from somewhere, just not from Moriarty. _In the end, Amelia knew there was only one option. "Fine, who should we begin with?"

Present day

"And that is what we've been doing for the last six months. The man tonight was my last on the list. But it still bothers me. He said that he did not know who I was but he was not surprised that someone was trying to kill him. These men are connected, but I can't remember how." Amelia looked up from the couch at Sherlock and John's intense stares.

Sherlock stood and walked over to John's laptop. "What are the names?"

"Pakawat Channarong, Thierry Montase, Kelvin Gonzalez, Patrick McCarthy, and Abdul Janashah." Amelia rattled off.

"You are right, they are connected. No matter, I'm sure I can figure that out without a problem." Sherlock smirked but looked momentarily panicked when he noticed the time. "I shall be in my room. Give me about an hour and a half first."

Sherlock gathered John's laptop up and briskly walked into his bedroom, shutting and locking the door. John and Amelia looked at each other, the same questioning expression on both of their faces. "I would tell him to use his own laptop, but I've been doing that for the last 3 months and he hasn't listened so far."

"This is typical? I mean, Sherlock has his quirks, but to spontaneously steal your computer and lock himself in his room. Have you been updating your security and malware software?"

"Why would I need to do that?"

"A grown man is locking himself in his room with your laptop, which is higher quality than his. I am sure that it is easier to stream video on your screen than his? Plus you seem to do your regular updates to keep it running in top shape whereas Sherlock barely remembers to dust the keyboard."

"So you think he is watching, what? Movies?"

"I would be more worried about the adult film selection that is available on multiple free websites."

"Sherlock is stealing my laptop to watch pornography?"

Amelia took a moment to consider that scenario. "Alright, fine, maybe a typical man would be wanking off, but this is Sherlock. Unfortunately, that brings us back to our original question. Is this something that is planned in advance?"

"That is the weird thing. He only does this on Mondays around 5pm, unless there is a case. If we are working, it gets moved to Sunday evenings."

"Maybe he is Skyping."

"What?"

"Try to keep up, old man. Skype is a computer program that allows people to talk over the computer. The camera on your laptop would allow for live video feed so that you can actually look at who you are talking to."

In an annoyed huff, John snapped "I know what Skype is. Sherlock makes me use the damn thing whenever he wants to consult on a case that he feels is too boring to require him to be physically present. You'd never believe the places I had to hike with that stupid computer. I am more concerned about who he is speaking with. He prefers to text everyone and can barely stand seeing many people in person, much less having weekly sessions with them."

Amelia did not see much of a point in apologizing. After working for six months in the service business, she was sick of every other word coming out of her mouth being "sorry about that." John did not seem to mind either, so Amelia just continued. "What about Lestrade or Molly?"

"Thought about that. Sherlock would just go to Scotland Yard if he needed to talk to Lestrade. It gives him plenty of opportunity to insult Anderson and sneer at Donovan. Molly? Perhaps every once in a while, but weekly? Probably not."

"Well damn. I'm out of ideas. Should we let this be his secret?" Amelia grinned over at John.

"Hell no, I actually hope that it is some sort of scandal. I would have said he was conversing with Irene Adler, but…"

"But I killed her." Amelia tried to ignore the slight pressure on her chest when she thought about killing Irene.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to bring that up. I know how much of a sore subject that is."

"It's alright. I mostly just feel guilty that I couldn't do anything to help. She was just too involved before I knew what was going on."

"You just felt helpless. Trust me, I know the feeling." Amelia knew that John was thinking about Mary, his dead first wife, taken entirely too soon by the hands of a drunk driver.

"Well that was nice while it lasted." Amelia could not keep all of the bitterness that she felt out of her voice.

John looked up, startled. "Pardon?"

"Not about Mary. Yes, I know you were thinking about her. I meant us. Why can't we just have a normal conversation anymore without it getting awkward? Our topics of conversation have so many landmines, it should have caution tape wrapped around the bloody thing."

"Maybe we should just stop being so sensitive about it." John spoke slowly, as if he were trying to find the right words. "We both have a history and it does no good to ignore it, especially when it keeps popping up like this."

Amelia took her time to absorb what John was suggesting. "So, what, are we just going to say exactly what is on our minds? I don't see how that will go over well."

"Well then, what should we do? You just said that all of our conversations end with us looking at each other uncomfortably, like we can't trust our own thoughts." John began pacing through the sitting room. "I'd rather try something, anything, than keep going through this."

His argument seemed logical, but Amelia's heart thudded at the idea of total honesty. It was so easy for her to pick up what someone was feeling. That was how she knew when she stepped into dangerous territory with John. She observed and acted accordingly. John wanted her to dissolve that for the moment in the hopes that discussing feelings would help. Amelia wanted to just run out the door. She killed people for a living and wanted to be the last person that another could count on to talk about emotions. "John, I'm really uncomfortable with this. Can't we just map out safe topics, like every other normal person in England?"

"You aren't normal, though."

It would have helped Amelia if John had tried to look contrite as he said that. "Gee" she retorted. "Way to help a girl open up."

John groaned and rubbed his temples. She was going to be the death of him. "You know what I mean, Amelia. Just humor me, alright?"

Running out of excuses, Amelia sighed and sat with her legs under her. "Fine, but if this makes shit more weird, I am blaming you."

John sat on the other side of the couch, facing Amelia. "You'll be entitled." He gestured with his hand. "Ladies first."

"I hate you a bit sometimes." Amelia shook out her hair and forced herself to bite back another sarcastic remark. "I may need a drink, do you need a drink? I'm getting a drink." She stood up and John reached his arms out to push her back down.

"Not a chance. Out with it, Holmes."


	3. Honesty

**Hey Guys!**

**Thanks for the reviews! This chapter is mostly fluff, but does give more development to Amelia and John as this story is supposed to be taking place almost 18 months after the other one ended. Anyway, I hope you like it!**

_"Not a chance. Out with it, Holmes."_

Amelia looked hard at John. _Like it could be that easy. _But then again, if he was trying, so could she. "Fine." She took another deep breath. "I want you to stop comparing me to Mary and vice versa."

"I don't."

A dry laugh escaped from Amelia's lips. "Honesty, John."

"I am not comparing the two of you. I was comparing how I was when I was with each of you."

"Same thing."

"Perhaps, but you need to believe me when I tell you that I love you. I do and in a completely different way than I loved Mary."

"I don't."

"You don't love me or you don't believe that I love you."

"Both."

"Why?"

"Because you deserve better."

"No I don't and this is saying more about your view of yourself than how I see you."

"How do you see me?"

"As an intelligent, strong, and incredibly sexy woman who is loyal to her family, keeps her word, and can make me laugh until it hurts."

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "You are such a liar."

"You asked me how I saw you and I told you. How do you see yourself?"

"Well, I am smart and strong, but I had to be. Sexy? Yeah right. I may have improved my relationship with both Sherlock and Mycroft, but loyal? Did you forget that I left the country for twelve years?"

"As I recall, you left because Moriarty was threatening to kill Sherlock. I'd say that was a pretty loyal move. How about instead of arguing what I have said, you tell me who you are?"

"I….well, I think I am….um…"

"You don't know who you are anymore."

It took an incredible amount of strength not to slap John Watson in the face. "Excuse me" Amelia scoffed. "But I know who I am."

John did not miss the twinge in Amelia's hand and was grateful that he didn't have to go to the clinic tomorrow, well, today, with a red handprint on his cheek. But then Amelia continued. "At least, I know who I was. I mean, I was an assassin who was being stalked for almost half of my life. I was estranged from Sherlock and Mycroft and was forced to adopt a whole new persona with my friends. I was gleefully calculating, cold, and acted superior. I kept everyone's thoughts off of myself by helping them sort out their own lives and problems, turning the attention onto someone else. I kept everyone at an arm's length, even when I didn't want to." She paused, unsure of John's reaction. "So much for your intelligent, strong, and sexy woman, huh?" Amelia's mind was reeling. "And I was only cold and distant because…"

"Because Moriarty would kill anyone who came close, I know. I'm not saying that you did not have good reason to act the way that you did, but Moriarty is dead. You don't have to be that person anymore. You've already patched things up with Sherlock and you are starting the business that you wanted when you were young. Even though you are still technically performing targeted hits, your life has changed drastically and who you were no longer matches up."

"Since when did you become the expert on me?"

"Sherlock has been teaching me how to observe."

"Like you taught him how to hug?"

"Once, I hugged the man once!"

"Apparently that left an impression."

"Stop changing the topic."

"Fine, I will agree that I have been feeling a bit out of sorts and it may have something to do with adjusting to my new life. But mostly, I have just been feeling bored. I hate that I miss the thrill of being one step ahead of Moriarty and moving every couple of years. I miss reinventing myself and seeing different parts of the States."

"So take up some more exciting hobbies. You have spent the last year trying to start your bakery to the point where it bordered on obsessive. Take up sky diving or something." John thought back to the time after Afghanistan. "I know exactly what you are going through. If it wasn't for Sherlock, I don't know if I would have made it out of my depression. I found something to live for; maybe you should do the same."

"You think that I haven't been living?" Before John could answer, Amelia nodded. "Makes sense, but I'm afraid that you have been doing the same."

"Me?"

"Have you been on a date since Mary?"

"I've tried, but it seems that you've been resistant."

"Then try someone else. Jesus, it isn't like London is suffering from a shortage of available women."

"I know that, but I don't want just another woman." John paused. "Look, I loved Mary. I wanted to spend my life with her and raise a family. She understood me and what I needed out of life. Mary knew when to push me out of the door and suggest that I visit Sherlock. She never questioned it when I stayed out all night on a case. How many women are there that would put up with a prat like that?"

"So you need someone patient and who understands that you need an adrenaline fix. It isn't like you beat your girlfriends up or spend all of your money on cocaine and prostitutes."

"Maybe I want someone who does more than just understand."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about you and Alex."

"Tread lightly, Watson."

"Would you want someone exactly like him again?"

"What Alex and I had was different. It was entirely against the norm. We loved each other and it was easy to be faithful, but most of the time we were either on a case or training for the next one. The man pushed me, my god did he push me. But it was because of his pushing that I stayed alive."

"And now that you've had and lost him, would you want to be with someone like that?"

Amelia thought for a moment. "No." She admitted, "Too much has happened. He just wouldn't fit into my life now. Not anymore. But you can't say that you and Mary are the same as Alex and I."

John nodded and his expression thoughtful. "Quite right. Perhaps it is my priorities that have changed. I just want someone to be on the adventure with me, not just pointing me towards it."

"And you think that you will find that with me?"

"You are never going to lose your wanderlust or your desire for excitement, Amelia, I know that much." John leaned forward, placing his hand in Amelia's and stroking her wrist with his thumb. "But I am tired of talking and skating around this, I just want to kiss you."

The doctor was right; there was something cathartic about their conversation. Amelia felt like a weight had been lifted. Looking into John's eyes, Amelia could see the depth of his desire, his admiration, and his physical need for Amelia. It was almost intoxicating. A ball of heat seemed to settle in Amelia's stomach. She wanted nothing more than to wrap herself in John Watson. Slowly, the room melted away until there was only John and Amelia left. Amelia could feel her breath becoming shallower and her eyes kept lingering on John's lips. _Just fucking kiss him, Holmes. You can't keep telling yourself that you haven't been thinking of this. That you haven't been kicking yourself for not jumping in._ Amelia made up her mind. Sure, she wasn't sure what to make of her life now any more than she did a year ago, but fundamentally, she had a good idea.

And that included John Watson.

If she were to do this, it wouldn't be halfway. Amelia propped herself forward, until she was on her knees. John's eyes widened with surprise and darkened with hunger when she crawled onto his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Well, now that you have me here, what on earth are you going to do?" Amelia practically purred as John ran his hands from her hips, up her back, and got lost in the wild curls of her hair.

John lightly pulled onto Amelia's hair and growled in her ear "I am going to make you beg for it."

While Amelia struggled to find her breath, John cupped his right hand behind Amelia's neck and pulled her towards him. Their lips met. Initially, the kiss was tentative and exploring. Amelia groaned as she felt John's tongue tease the seam of her mouth. But before they could deepen the kiss, Sherlock slammed out of his bedroom and shouted "Slave traders!"

Amelia tried to scoot backwards and fix her hair but John tightened his grip. "Don't you dare try to hide. I am not going to be your secret boyfriend."

Sherlock was crossing the kitchen. "Boyfriend?" Amelia whispered furiously. "When the hell did we establish this?"

John's mouth dropped and he loosened his grip in shock. Amelia used that moment to break out of his arms and slide to the other side of the couch. With a face that said _I am far from amused_, John narrowed his eyes. "What did you think was going to happen?"

Sherlock finally stood in front of the two, pouted and crossed his arms. "Are you two being purposely dense? I said slave traders!"


	4. The truth behind the list

**As usual, I do not own any of the characters from the BBC show, darn.**

**Thank you so much for the reviews! Keep them coming and imagine that I am doing a ridiculous dance each time.**

**Also, a complement for you-My, don't you look lovely? **

**Enjoy the story!**

"All of those men are slave traders?" Amelia asked, incredulous.

"No, Amelia, I figured if I stomped in here and shouted 'slave traders' you would finally get off my flat mate." Sherlock's voice was the epitome of dryness as he rolled his eyes. "Besides, I thought you two were avoiding each other? No matter. The men were slave traders and possibly quite important members of their craft."

John apparently got over his frustration with Amelia and was instantly on task. "What kind of slaves are we talking about? Sex or Labor?"

"I don't know."

Amelia's head snapped towards her older brother. "What?!"

Sherlock shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked at the bullet holes on the wall behind the couch. "I just got to slave traders and thought that you could get the rest out of Mycroft, you know, our other brother who lied to you? And that brings up a whole other problem. If you were targeting these men, then those who are threatening you are still out there."

_There is something he is not telling me._ "When do you stop researching before you get the entire answer? You were in your room for over an hour, what were you doing?" If Amelia didn't know better, she could have sworn Sherlock's face turned a light shade of pink. "Sherlock!" Amelia shouted. "What is going on with you?"

"I do not know why you feel the need to shout, Amelia. And you are missing the point. You were killing the wrong men. How did you not notice?"

Now it was Amelia's turn to lie. However, before she could answer, Sherlock pointed at her. "Don't even bother if you are going to be untruthful."

Exasperated, Amelia opted for the truth. "That's another reason why I was bothered." Feeling twitchy, she began to pace the sitting room. "I did not recognize those names. Mycroft tried to tell me that I missed some allies or potential ties to the people that I have killed, but I _never_ miss. I am able to pinpoint the exact steps that everyone involved will make if a person dies, I was never wrong."

Sherlock watched his sister walk. "Then why did you do it?"

"Because it's Mycroft." Amelia shrugged as Sherlock scoffed. "I know that you two don't always get along but he's really helped me out in the last year."

"So it's excusable that he is now using you as his personal assassin?" It was John's turn to speak up.

"To be honest, I would have agreed to help him. So why did he have to lie?"

"Because he didn't want you to see who was being affected from their deaths." Sherlock sat on the couch, hands pressed together and placed under his chin. "You wouldn't have questioned it if you thought that these men would have killed you if you didn't kill them."

Amelia ran her hands through her hair. "So after all this, I still need to talk to Mycroft."

Sherlock smirked. "And this is why I stopped at slave traders."

"Well, it's late. I better head home. Pretty sure that Shay is wondering where I am."

"If you bothered to answer any of her text messages, she wouldn't be as worried." Sherlock's eyes widened momentarily, almost as if he disclosed a deep secret.

"And how would you know about this? Are you talking to Shay?"

"Don't be ridiculous. She just seems like the type to be easily anxious."

Amelia was tempted to stay and grill Sherlock about his new knowledge about her flat mate. This was not the first time he knew information about Shay. Just last week, Sherlock somehow knew that Shay had dyed her hair blonde, though he claimed that there were stray hairs on Amelia's jacket. But one glance at her watch changed Amelia's mind. She realized that she was needed at the bakery in a mere four hours. Amelia pointed at her petulant older brother "This isn't over, Sherlock. I know there is something you aren't telling me."

His only response was a distracted wave of his hand. Amelia turned around and made her way down the stairs. As her hand closed around the doorknob, Amelia felt a hand on the small of her back. John stepped closely behind her, his mouth close to her ear. "Stay with me tonight."

It was too easy for Amelia just to turn around and walk upstairs to John's room. Instead, though, she turned the knob and opened the door. "You know as well as I do that if I stay, neither of us would be getting any sleep."

John was not easily persuaded. "They have this remarkable invention. I believe they call it coffee. It may even be served at this amazing bakery that recently opened." His mouth brushed over Amelia's neck and he marveled at how quickly her skin broke out into goosebumps. "Stay" he whispered.

"Not tonight."

"But soon?"

Amelia smiled and walked out the door, turning when she reached the sidewalk. "Soon."

It wasn't a long walk to Amelia and Shay's flat. But in the 20 minutes it took to get there, Amelia figured out that whether she had stayed with John or not, she was not getting any sleep. With a sigh of disgust, she let herself in the door. The flat was not especially large, with two small bedrooms and a single bathroom about the size of a postage stamp. Fortunately, the sitting room was large enough to hold a treadmill. Typically, Amelia never invested in any furniture or other possessions that would be difficult to move in a moment's notice, but after moving to London, Amelia had taken to walking during bouts of insomnia. Apparently Mycroft did not feel like it was safe for her to do, so one day the treadmill was delivered with a note. _Don't argue._ Amelia hated to admit, but it did come in handy. Shay was in her room, presumably sleeping as any normal person would. Amelia stepped into her room to change into a pair of yoga pants and a sleeveless top. She stretched out as she walked back into the sitting room. Turning on her iPod, Amelia turned on some Flogging Molly and began to run.

Her muscles tensed for a moment before the muscle memory kicked in and loosened up. Amelia toyed with the idea of using her time to think about everything that came to light this evening, but she figured that there would be plenty of time to do that tomorrow, or later today actually. Deliberately shutting her mind off, she ran while humming along to Drunken Lullabies. Amelia could feel the strain slowly fading away. At the three mile mark, Amelia slowed down to a walking pace. Eventually, she opened her eyes, let out a shriek, and almost fell over. Shay stood in front of her, arms crossed and a sly grin on her face. Amelia could tell by Shay's moving lips that she was making some sort of smart ass comment, so she removed her earbuds. "What?"

"I said, what on earth is making you run at five in the morning? A surprising breakthrough with our favorite doctor of sexy?" Shay laughed when she saw Amelia's face turn red, pleased that she was right.

"Doctor of sexy? Really Shay?" Amelia grumbled as she stepped off the machine. "Can't a girl play hamster without having some sort of life crisis?"

"Well, let's see, a normal person could, but that would be only during hours that a normal person would be awake. Also, you only have insomnia when something is bothering you. Since you used to be a gun-for-hire, it would take a lot for that to happen. You slept like a baby last night, so obviously an event happened recently. Finally, when you are perfectly alright, you talk to yourself as you run. This time, there was nothing but silence." Shay walked over to the kitchen area to make coffee.

It wasn't until recently that Amelia told Shay about her previous career. Fortunately, as a behavioral specialist, Shay had years of training to deal with such news without cracking any emotion. At first, it made Amelia especially nervous to talk about the process of disemboweling a man as her best friend sat in such a way to promote "open communication," straight but relaxed posture, hands lightly folded on her lap, and a blank but mildly interested looking expression. Eventually, Shay disclosed that she specialized in sex disorders and acted as a therapist to many rapists. Apparently, it was easier to hear her friend talk about killing others for a living than it was to maintain a professional demeanor as a near stranger described raping a small child. Amelia was thankful for such small favors that were thrown her way. She was about to flop down on her couch when Shay narrowed her eyes at her. "You are a sweaty mess and you are about to lay on that couch? The couch that I nap on? The couch that we receive guests on? Hell no. Get your smelly ass in the shower. I'll make breakfast." Shay smiled at her last statement as though she was trying to sweeten the deal.

Amelia knew that it was pointless to argue with her flat mate before she had her caffeine fix. She walked into the bathroom and groaned at her appearance. Her hair, while tied back, managed to frizz out, her skin had an odd pallor to it, and her eyes looked dark and exhausted. The last time she looked so awful was when Mycroft drugged her and brought her back to London. Amelia nearly checked herself for needle marks. She jumped in the shower, setting the water temperature to a cruel cold level to help wake herself up. She went onto autopilot, washing her hair and quickly ran soap over her body. _I bet if I had stayed on Baker Street, I would have been able to convince John to join me._ Despite the frigid temperature, Amelia felt herself warming up. She shook her head. _Get that out of your mind, Holmes, you have a roommate to be interrogated by and a business to run._ She turned the water offand briskly dried, pulling her hair back into a bun. Naked, she walked out of the bathroom and into her room, ignoring Shay as she shouted "Propriety, dear roommate!"

Amelia walked to her closet, though using that term for the small nook where she piled her clothing was being overly generous, and picked out a black pair of trousers and a black top that looked plain on the front, but was sheer and lacy in the back. Knowing that Shay would try to scold her into something more modest, Amelia also took a red camisole to wear under it. She quickly stepped into pants and a bra and threw on her outfit. Stepping out of her room, she already saw Shay at the table with two cups of coffee and toast. With a smile that could rival the Cheshire cat. "Well don't you look scandalous this morning?"

Amelia scoffed. "Please, until I break out my ass-less chaps and my steel- boned corset, you are not allowed to refer to my wardrobe as anything other than slightly gothic."

Shay shook her head, good naturedly. "Fine" she replied. "Besides, we have more important things to talk about."

Taking a piece of toast, Amelia looked up. "Then I hope you are prepared to make more coffee."

"Oh honey, I made a whole pot."


	5. Confronting Mycroft

**So, I think I'm going to keep posting, even if there are only 3 of you reading. Screw the rest of 'em, I say!. Special thanks to Byakuya7309, TaintedMuse1804, and Mira SeverusSirius Black-Snape for your comments. If I owned any of the Sherlock characters, I promise I would share them with you!**

**A big chunk of this story so far has just been catching everyone up, lots of talking. Well, now it is time for action! After just a little bit more talking ;)**

**Enjoy!**

After filling Shay in, Amelia had to immediately leave to get her bakery open. Fortunately, she only had to descend a set of stairs before she found herself in the back alley. She pulled out her key and unlocked the backdoor. Stepping into the kitchen area, Amelia was surprised to see that the lights were on and the ovens were going. Typically, she would have drawn the gun that was stashed in her office, but Amelia did not think that robbers or potential murderers would have a batch of fairy cakes in the oven with another prepared to go in. "Jane" she called out. "What are you doing here so early? You're not scheduled until 7:30."

Jane stepped around the decorating table. "I know, but my nephews were driving me nuts. Apparently Colin and Tate like the same girl. They've been fighting all morning and my useless sister-in-law had decided to have a lie in, thinking that I would have taken care of it. If you don't want to pay me for this time, that's fine, I just needed a little peace and quiet. This just happens to be the only place I can get it."

Amelia waved a hand at Jane's offer as she put on an apron. "No, I just wasn't expecting you. Of course, I will pay you for these hours. What have you gotten done so far?"

Jane was right. The bakery was very quiet and peaceful before they opened. They worked alongside each other without saying much. Jane was not a person who was uncomfortable with silence and needed to fill it with noise. For that, Amelia was quite grateful. Finishing up the standard prep, Amelia pulled out ingredients for Chocolate-Toffee Scones. Jane raised an eyebrow. "Expecting someone?"

Both women were aware that Mycroft particularly enjoyed that recipe. Amelia said nothing and began to mix the dry ingredients. Jane's amused expression only deepened. "And here I thought that my family was odd." With that, she grabbed a tray and walked to the front.

Amelia folded the freshly whipped cream into dry ingredients and quickly began to knead the dough. Rolling it out, she began to prepare what she wanted to say to Mycroft. Amelia felt betrayed by her oldest brother. Mycroft used her fear of others threatening both her and those she cared for and lied about who her targets were. Amelia knew that an emotional confrontation would do no good. Mycroft would just sit there with his damn umbrella and a poker face. As she cut the dough into triangular shapes, she ran through the entire list of offenses that she needed to get to the bottom of. Once she transferred the wedges onto a baking sheet and brushed them with butter and sugar, Amelia stuck them in the oven. She then moved to the front area and noticed that Jane had already set up and was ready to open. "I don't pay you nearly enough." Amelia remarked. "I am going to be in the office for a bit, but don't worry about the scones."

With a nod from her barista, Amelia traveled to her office and shut the door. She sat at her chair and propped her feet up on her makeshift desk. Leaning back, she began to plot. Roughly twenty minutes later, Amelia stood up and walked to the oven, taking the scones out. She put one on a plate and walked to the front to prepare some tea. Amelia waved at the couple that arrived on that first day. Josh and Stella Whitacre had quickly become regulars and true to their word, encouraged their friends to come in as well. Instead of sitting and chatting with them, as she would usually do, Amelia walked back to her office with the plate and cup. She scanned her wall until she located the small camera in the corner of the second shelf. Amelia moved some books and set the scone and tea in front of the camera. She shot the lens a meaningful glare and walked back to the counter. Not ten minutes later, Mycroft walked through the front door. He looked rested and relaxed. _That jackass thinks that he is here to celebrate the last man offed. _Amelia decided to play along. "Mycroft! Just the man I wanted to see. I take it you would like a celebratory scone?"

Her jovial tone might have come off a little too fake as Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps we should take this into your office."

Amelia turned around and walked towards the kitchen, turning her head to speak to him. "Of course, that is where your scone and hidden camera are."

Jane shook her head as Mycroft walked by. "She finds them every bloody time you move the camera. I don't understand why you keep doing it."

If looks could kill, Mycroft's glare would have nearly cut off Jane's head. She threw her hands up and smiled. "Nice try, but after seeing my mother getting nine children ready for school before she could have her morning cuppa, there is nothing that you could do that would scare me."

"Oh for god's sake." Mycroft muttered. He made his way to Amelia's office. As he sat down, Amelia thrust the scone at him. "I don't have to worry about arsenic in this, do I?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Mycroft. Everyone knows that it is best to mix arsenic with powdered sugar." She waited until he took a rather large bite, chewed, and swallowed. "With scones, it is better to mix ground up glass into the batter, much more painful."

Amelia smirked at Mycroft's startled expression. "Calm down, I need to talk to you before I do anything extreme."

Setting down the plate and picking up the tea, Mycroft studied Amelia. "You are angry with me. Might you explain why?"

"As soon as you explain why you lied about the five men I have killed."

"Amelia, I don't understand why you would think…"

"Liar."

Amelia watched her brother try to recover. _He's dazed. Mycroft did not want me to find out about the bogus threats. His heart rate has increased dramatically; I can practically see his pulse through his neck. Are his hands shaking? He is panicking. _All the information that Amelia planned to flaunt in front of Mycroft dissolved. She had not seen Mycroft look so defeated. Leaning forward, she placed her hand over his and with the other, took the cup and set it down. "Mycroft, what aren't you telling me about them?"

Mycroft looked like he was going to be sick. Amelia eyed the garbage can by the door as he bent at the waist and put his head in his free hand. "You weren't supposed to know. All you had to do was take care of these men and it would have been over. Amelia, you have no idea what you have just started."

"Well, it's started, so you could just tell me everything."

Mycroft looked up. "Not here. We'll talk in my car."

Amelia was startled. She had never seen Mycroft act so paranoid. "Why?"

"It's the only place that may be safe to discuss this matter."

Mycroft led Amelia outside and to the waiting car. Amelia was too thrown to answer Jane's questions as to why she was leaving. They both took their time to settle into their seats. Amelia was the first to break the silence. "Okay, tell me everything."

"You were never being threatened."

"Figured."

"Shut up or I'll stop talking." Mycroft waited until Amelia nodded to continue. "Please understand that I never wanted you to be involved with this. But while you were with Moriarty, I received word from a rather important source that someone knew everything about you, every person you killed, every city you lived in, and all of the people that you acquainted yourself with. They wanted you to continue your assassination business. That is a large reason why I bought you that space. I thought that if you put that life behind you, it would be more difficult for you to readily agree. I lied about the threats to instill a thread of fear towards your old life. But it backfired; my source informed me that I had to contract you to dispose of these men. My source never told me why it was needed, but assured me that if I did not comply, both you and Sherlock would be killed immediately. I tried to investigate further, as I was suspicious, but the threats became more frequent. And then I started to receive pictures of you and Sherlock, in your flats, at Angelo's, everywhere. It wasn't until I noticed the numbers that I folded and brought you in."

"The numbers?"

"In all of the shots, there somehow managed to be a number in the frame. It started at 50 and decreased from there. It was a countdown, Amelia, I was given a finite amount of time to obey before you two were killed."

"Why didn't you tell me about this? Mycroft, I would have helped you."

"I know you would have." Mycroft looked momentarily comforted with the knowledge. "However, it was firmly expressed that you needed to perform these hits without knowing why or who they truly were."

It wasn't until Mycroft was silent for a full minute that Amelia realized that he had finished speaking. "So let me get this straight, someone was threatening to kill me and Sherlock to get you to convince me to take out these random slave traders. You don't know why and you had to make sure that I knew even less than you did."

"In a nutshell."

"So what happens now?"

Mycroft twisted his umbrella in his hands. "I fear that I will need to leave the country for a bit until this dies down."

"No pun intended?"

Choosing to ignore her, Mycroft continued. "I think you should do the same, Amelia, though we obviously cannot be in the same place. If the two of us leave, Sherlock should be alright."

As Amelia thought about her new predicament, she felt the car slow down and stop. Mycroft gazed out the front window. "Jeffrey, why are we stopping?"

The driver did not even turn around. "There's an accident up ahead, I am going to take the alley out of here."

Amelia felt the same sense of foreboding that she experienced last night. She cleared her throat. "I don't think that is a good idea."

Exasperation flooded Jeffrey's voice. "What the bloody hell do you expect me to do? Fly out of here? I'm taking the damn alley."

As he made the sharp left turn, Amelia began to unbuckle her seat belt. Mycroft began to catch on and did the same. They both could see Jeffrey's eyes dance with amusement. "No point in doing that, folks, we're already here."

Jeffrey slammed on the brakes, causing Amelia and Mycroft to fall forward. Before they could move, the doors opened and two men in black jumped in. They quickly threw burlap bags over Amelia and Mycroft's heads. Amelia kicked her legs out and felt her mystery man drop. "You are going to regret that, you little bitch." His voice sounded flat, but Amelia could tell that the man was just disguising his voice.

Amelia smiled; getting information out of this man would be easier than she thought. However, as he brought down a small club on her head, Amelia felt that she had been slightly mistaken. Her world tilted and went black.


	6. I've got a dark alley and a bad idea

**You are all lovely. Don't ever change. **

**Enjoy the chapter :)**

The pain at the back of her head was the first sense that came back to Amelia. She tensed and tried to remember where she was. _A back alley. Oh god, were is Mycroft? _She opened her eyes and scanned the asphalt, looking for any sign of her brother. "Mycroft?" she called out.

There was no sign of him. Amelia stood up, wincing at the pain. Mycroft's car was gone but Amelia assumed as much. She wondered how Jeffrey managed to be so trusted by Mycroft when he was clearly working for someone else. _Unless he wasn't._ Startled at her own thoughts, Amelia shook her head and kept looking for evidence. _Tire tracks that started in the middle of the alley shows that the car sped off once I was dumped out. There is debris on the ground except in two spots on either side. Those men must have been waiting in position until Jeffrey pulled in. The only blood came from where I laid unconscious, meaning Mycroft was still in the car when it took off. _Amelia pulled out her mobile and texted Sherlock, knowing that her brother would never answer if she called.

**Lock, there was more to the story. Mycroft tried to tell me, but we were attacked and I was knocked out.-AH**

She did not have to wait long to hear back, only instead of a text, she received a call. "Sherlock?"

"What the hell are you thinking? You were attacked and rendered unconscious and you thought that sending me a text was appropriate? What if I had ignored the phone? Where are you?" Sherlock sounded as though he was already running outside.

"If you would have ignored my text, you would have ignored my call as well. I was going to wait five minutes before calling John, so I would have been perfectly fine."

"Just tell me where you are!"

Amelia gave him directions, fortunately, Mycroft and Amelia had not gone far from the bakery. Hanging up, Amelia felt nauseous and dizzy. She sat back down and rested her head on her knees. Sherlock arrived in less than ten minutes; John was right at his heels. John did not waste any time. He immediately kneeled next to Amelia and started to take her vitals. Sherlock scanned the alley, choosing to wait to question Amelia. John gently tried to lift Amelia's face up to check her pupils and was dismayed to see how pale she had become. "Looks like you have one hell of a concussion. We have to get you back to the flat, but love, please don't try to sleep. Not until I am sure you are cleared."

Amelia allowed herself to be lifted up and practically carried to the sidewalk where Sherlock was hailing a cab. After they were settled in, John and Sherlock began to discuss what Sherlock observed. "They must have jumped in when the car parked in the alley. The driver must have been paid off…"

Amelia tried to listen to what Sherlock was saying, but his voice started to fade in and out. John must have felt Amelia's head tilt back because he responded immediately, shaking her and shouting "Amelia, open your eyes. You have to stay awake right now…AMELIA!"

Sherlock found a more efficient solution. He pushed John toward the front of the cab, took aim, and slapped Amelia across the face. Amelia roused. "Fuck off, Sherlock. What was that for?"

"Do try to stay awake, Amelia, I still have questions for you."

"Oh, don't pretend you don't care. I know better."

"Then I prefer you stay alive. Happy?"

"Ecstatic. Now if the mind-numbing pain would go away I would be able to answer any questions you have."

The cab pulled to the curb. John took advantage of his new position and quickly paid the fare. "No questions until I say so. Amelia is my patient now."

Amelia tried to ignore the warm feeling that spread through her stomach when John took charge like that. "I am perfectly fine taking care of myself. Just help me up the steps and let me be."

"Amelia, please don't rile John up like that, I need my blogger to be in top shape. I am going to check in with some of my contacts in the Homeless Network to see if anyone saw the exchange." Sherlock paused at the bottom of the stairs and looked at Amelia. "This is the third time that I've had to carry your unconscious body. Please let this be the last." With that, he turned and walked out the door.

John helped Amelia upstairs. Amelia was still going over what Sherlock had just said. To any other person, they might have thought that Sherlock had reacted coldly and dismissively. But Amelia knew better. Sherlock would never tell Amelia to stop investigating and even taking the occasional assassin job. Amelia could tell from the slight shake of his hands and the speed in which he walked away that Sherlock was reacting emotionally. She wondered if he had finally discovered the parallels of Amelia's hitman status and his former drug-induced lifestyle. The restlessness when there was no supply, the danger of desperation, and the fear of the next time being the one that killed you. She sat at the kitchen table as John gathered supplies to clean the wound on her head. He pulled her hair back to examine the site. "I don't think you will need stitches. Though, hold still, this will sting some."

Amelia winced at the sharp pain of the antiseptic as it was swabbed on. John's hands remained steady as he continued to clean her head. He noticed, with relief, that the wound was more of a scrape. The weapon must had been rough and skidded over her head as it was used to knock her out. Opting to skip the hassle of cloth and other wrappings, he pulled out the liquid bandage and applied it to the scrape. "There, not so bad?"

John put down the medical supplies and helped Amelia up to his room. "Isn't taking advantage of a concussion patient considered malpractice?" Amelia asked.

"It is good to hear your sarcasm is back, sweetheart, but I thought you might want to change into something that doesn't smell like a back alley hooker."

Amelia smiled. "Hey, don't insult my new perfume."

They finally made it up the second flight of steps. Amelia felt strong enough to sit up on her own as John handed her a large white t-shirt and a pair of grey and black plaid sleeping pants. Amelia tried to shoo him away and stood to loosen her belt. At least, that was her intention. As she stood, another wave of dizziness swept over her. John immediately saw Amelia's face go pale again and wrapped an arm around her. "Will you stop acting like you are invincible?" John tried to lift up her shirt and rolled his eyes as Amelia resisted. "I'm not going to get off with you when you can barely stand. I rather prefer my partners to be willing and responsive, thanks."

With militant precision, John stripped Amelia and put her in the clean pajamas. He tried not to stare at her curves, though there was an appreciative glance or two. Amelia was relieved when he finally tied the drawstring to the pants, finalizing the odd wardrobe change. She raised her eyebrows as John pushed her down onto the mattress. When her leg brushed between his, the firmness she felt answered her questions. Though she couldn't resist, Amelia gave John an expression of innocent curiosity. "Why Doctor, I thought I was not supposed to sleep at a time like this?"

Instead of answering, John practically growled and bit her neck. He smirked at the moan that was ripped from Amelia's mouth. Eagerly, he pressed his lips to hers. "What if Mycroft planned the whole thing?" Amelia mentally kicked herself for talking without thinking.

John looked concerned. "Why would you think that?"

Amelia filled him in on what Mycroft disclosed in the car. "I just can't imagine Jeffrey getting paid to double cross Mycroft without him finding out. What if this so-called anonymous source was actually Mycroft wanting me to kill off his competition?"

John looked thoughtful. "Look, Sherlock and I did some extra research on those men. They were involved in slave trading, but each person dealt with different areas of slavery."

"What do you mean each had different areas? Like one was in sex slavery and one was in labor?"

"It is a little more complicated. Yes, one was in sex slavery, but there are different types of labor slaves. There are slaves working in agriculture, domestic work, mining, manufacturing, even baby selling."

Amelia let out a deep breath. "Why do I get the feeling that this is bigger than we initially thought?"

"I don't know, love, but if Mycroft was involved, where does he fit in?"

Amelia did not have an answer. John cupped his hand behind her neck and traced her jaw with his thumb. "Can we just not think right now?"

Nodding, Amelia moved her head closer to John's. Their lips were almost meeting when Amelia jerked back, her hand against her mouth. She ran downstairs, using the railing heavily on her descent. John followed closely, unsure of what was happening. He quickly caught on when Amelia skidded into the bathroom and began retching into the toilet. "Oh god," he groaned. "I should have made sure she wasn't feeling nauseous. Way to show off your doctor skills, Watson."

Twenty minutes later, John and Amelia had made it to the couch as they heard Sherlock running up the stairs. "I heard back from my sources!" Sherlock stood in the middle of the sitting room, feeling utter confusion. _What the hell is going on with my sister and flatmate? _He looked closer. _Clearly, Amelia vomited. That was a side effect of the concussion. Her color is up, illustrated by the redness in her cheeks. John is also unable to keep from glancing at her and will look at me with guilt. Wait, I know what this is and this will not do._ Crossing his arms, he glowered at the pair. Amelia gestured for Sherlock to continue. "Are you waiting for a dramatic invitation? What did you find out?"

"Well, I found out that something I assumed was over is actually ongoing." He glared at the pair until John had the common decency to look slightly uncomfortable. "Also, Matthew witnessed the whole exchange in the alley. Mycroft was in the car, but he couldn't tell if he was there against his will or not. But he also recognized a name that they threw out before the car got there. Apparently there was supposed to be a third man, but he went AWOL. Last they heard, he went to Tokyo. I booked a flight for you both for this evening."

"That's great. I think we can get all the information we need out of him. Wait, what do you mean you both? I thought that you would want to come with." Amelia looked stricken.

"I need to stay in town. Um, there is an appointment that I need to keep."

_Is Sherlock uncomfortable? The appointment is impromptu so he must have just made it when he was out. If that is the case, then his appointment is tied with what just happened._ "Sherlock, what are you planning?"

Sherlock looked affronted. "Why do you think that I am plotting something? I am merely needed here. Go to Tokyo, speak to William Tate, it should be quite easy to find him as he is 6'5 and has white hair. Now, please get some rest before your flight. If I recall correctly, you were never a fan of sleeping on a plane. I am off to St. Bart's. I shall give Molly your regards."

The door shut and Amelia looked back at John. "Did he forget that I need clothes if I were to go on a trip?"

The front door reopened. Amelia saw Sherlock's hand pop in with a suitcase that was unceremoniously dropped onto the floor. "You're welcome!" he called out.


	7. Tokyo

**As always, enjoy and let me know what you think!**

"Explain to me again why Sherlock got out of coming with?" griped Amelia as she put on her seatbelt and glared forward.

John settled back into his seat and wondered when the flight attendants would be by with the drink cart. He then tried to calculate how many of those mini bottles of tequila it would take for Amelia to be rendered silent. It wasn't that he didn't like to hear her talk, he loved the woman. But for piss sake, if she was anything like Sherlock, this would be a long flight. "I'm sure you will be able to figure it out. For now, can we just enjoy first class?"

As Amelia grumbled, John scanned her body, looking for a point of tension. Amelia absentmindedly flicked her wrist out, almost as if she was shaking a cramp away. John smiled and reached over, grabbing her right wrist. When Amelia looked over with a questioning expression, John began to massage her wrist, working his way towards her elbow. "It seems like you hold a lot of tension in your forearms."

Amelia finally relaxed. "The pitfalls of being a baker, not only am I using my arms and hands a lot, but when I'm stressed, I take it out on the dough."

They sat that way for the first hour of the trip, John rubbing Amelia's arms and both of them having a conversation about nothing in particular. John was surprised to hear about Amelia's near obsessive hatred of cooked carrots and Amelia laughed at John mimicking the exchanges between Sherlock and Molly, who despite being in a relationship with Lestrade, still harbored a small crush on the consulting detective. Deep down, Amelia knew that Molly was serious about Lestrade. They gossiped about him whenever they got together for their weekly lunches.

_Wait, weekly lunches?_

Amelia shot up, scaring the attendant with the drink cart. "That little pompous jerk!"

"I think you might want to expand on that, love, we're getting odd stares." John looked nervously at the other passengers who were convinced John and Amelia may be starting a fight.

"Sherlock meets with Shay every week over the computer. After that trip to the States where I forced the two of them in a hotel room for a couple of days, they have been getting along awfully well."

"So you think that they are, what, dating?"

"Not a chance. Shay knows too much about Sherlock to ever be romantically interested in him. That only leaves one viable option."

"Which is?"

"Sherlock is having therapy sessions with her."

John fought hard to not laugh. "I suppose that would be beneficial for Sherlock to work out some of his issues and quirks. And Shay is a great therapist. I've been hearing loads of great things about her from some of the employees who work at both places."

Once John and Amelia made eye contact, neither could help but break out into giggling fits. "How do you think their sessions work out?" Amelia surmised. "Sherlock would be complaining about the insipid morons that he is forced to be around and Shay would be nodding, thinking about how much she would like to stab him in the jugular, the entire time."

Finally, after 12 hours, they finally landed. However, with the time changes, it was already 7pm. The crowd at the baggage claim was brutal, though. Amelia thought fondly of her personal bright pink with black polka dotted luggage. It was so easy to locate that amongst the sea of black suitcases. After several false attempts, Amelia finally found her luggage as John waited patiently, his green duffle bag tucked at his side. They walked out and took a cab to the hotel Sherlock booked for them. He was kind enough to text the information with directions during the flight so that Amelia would have them handy the second she turned her phone back on.

The cab ride was rather uneventful, if one did not consider Amelia practically gluing her face to the window an eventful time. Despite having visited Japan before, Amelia had never been to Tokyo and had always wanted to go. She did not feel that John's muffled laughter was warranted. Eventually, they arrived at the Dai-ichi Hotel. They quickly checked in and found, to their dismay, they were booked under Mr. and Mrs. John H. Watson. Their discomfort, however, was short lived once they opened the door to their suite. Although it was set up like any standard hotel room, there was something about it that made Amelia want to curl up in the armchair and watch the city outside. She debated on whether she wanted to unpack right away or just curl up in the amazing looking bed. _Wait, one bed? _She and John shared an incredulous glance. Amelia picked up her mobile and texted Sherlock back.

**We've just arrived. Nice digs. Was it too expensive to spring for a second room, or even an extra bed?-AH**

Sherlock must have been waiting to hear from Amelia, he responded within a minute.

**It would look too suspicious if you got separate rooms. You can pretend to be a married couple, can't you?-SH**

**For someone who can't stand the idea of his sister and flatmate getting together, you sure are making it easy.-AH**

**What are you talking about, getting together? You are already together, I assume John is in the room with you.-SH**

**Think about it, bro.-AH**

**You are making no sense….wait. That is disgusting. Never mention that again lest you would like me to set fire to your flat.-SH**

**And where would Shay and I have to stay until we could find a new flat? Unless you would prefer Shay to share a bed with you? You know, since John and I wouldn't be able to. I would have to sleep on the couch-AH**

**Damn you.-SH**

No matter how small the battle with Sherlock, Amelia was always gleeful when she turned out to be the victor. But that did not solve the issue of sharing a bed with John. Amelia looked up and found that John was already unpacking. "I take it Sherlock assumed that we would pull the married couple routine?"

"Pretty much, how did you know?"

John turned around, a small box in his hands. "Because he sent the rings in my bag."

"I'm going to maim that punk."

Grinning, John walked over to Amelia. "Do something more painful, hide the skull."

Amelia barked out a sharp laugh. "You evil man."

John tried not to notice how Amelia's voice dropped to a rather seductive low tone. He also tried to ignore the warm sensation that started in his stomach and burned its way south. Clearing this throat, John opened the box and took out the two rings. His was a simple black band and Amelia's was a wedding set. The bands were black and had a pattern etched onto them. There was also a princess cut ruby in the middle, at least Amelia hoped it was a ruby and not some fancy red diamond. "Holy shit, these are gorgeous" breathed Amelia.

"Yeah" agreed John, who didn't trust his voice. "Did you want me to put it on you or…?"

"It's fine, I can do it myself."

Amelia slipped on the rings. _Of course they fit perfectly._ She splayed her fingers out to admire how well the dark metal complemented her skin tone. Oddly enough, she and Shay were idly discussing their dream wedding rings the week before; her description matched the ring that was currently on her hand. _Maybe Shay told Sherlock? No, it would have been immediately deleted. I must be easy to shop for._ Refusing to think into it anymore, Amelia dropped her hand, smiled at John, ignored the soft look on his face, and said "I should really unpack. You never know what Sherlock stuck in my bag."

Turning around, Amelia opened the suitcase. Sure enough, there was a knee-length silk dress with full sleeves that needed to be hung up. It was a deep purple and had black embroidery that was made to look like abstract dragons and a black belt. The dress was cut in such a way that it looked like a modern kimono. She hung it up and attended to the rest of the clothing, which by comparison, looked quite plain. Gathering the toiletries in her arms, she detoured into the bathroom and found John staring at his hand, his eyes cloudy with tears. He looked up and tried to quickly hide his face. "Don't mind me. I guess I didn't realize how I would feel with a different wedding ring on. I'm just being silly."

Amelia stepped behind John and wrapped her arms around his waist. "That isn't silly, John. I'm sorry, I didn't think about how startling it would be to give the appearances that you were newly married."

"But it isn't real." John braced himself against the counter.

"You're right, but wearing it forced you to confront the likelihood that you might want to get remarried. It would be quite daunting for anyone."

"What about you?"

"Me? I can barely imagine getting married ever, much less shortly after being widowed."

Amelia was trying to lighten the mood, but she could see by John's darkened expression, the opposite happened. _Great idea, Holmes, tell the man who wants to be with you that you have no interest in getting married. Moron._ "Seriously, though, could you imagine? Think about Sherlock and Mycroft. They would be standing in the corner, plotting and glaring at my future groom. And how many men would want to get tied to a woman who moonlights as an assassin?"

_Great, now he's uncomfortable. Shut. Up. Holmes._

Fortunately, John's face lightened up, albeit with a fake grin. "It would be the only thing they both could agree on."

Amelia smiled back and removed her arms. "Let me finish unpacking. We can order some expensive room service and watch a terrible horror movie at Sherlock's expense."

So they did. Amelia picked the movie 3 Extremes and had a discussion with John about which country typically made the best horror movies. Amelia was partial to the Japanese horror films while John was a fan of the old school Hollywood movies. "You can't tell me that you weren't scared by Nosferatu."

"Boring!" Amelia grinned and threw a napkin at John. "There have been advancements made in the art of suspense since then."

John scoffed. "All CGI crap and gore. I swear, the new horror flicks are like pornography. They try to show you as much bodily fluid and physical harm as possible and pray for a reaction."

"Nice correlation. Do you consider yourself a connoisseur of porn movies?" Amelia laughed as John tried not to choke on his tea.

"Of course not! I mean I, well sometimes when Sherlock is out, um, that isn't to say. Oh bloody hell, you know what I meant!"

"I did. I just like seeing you squirm." Amelia smirked.

"I just don't see how this is remotely terrifying." John gestured at the screen. "All I am seeing is a shot of an empty room with a bag. Wait, is that bag moving? What the hell is in there?"

"That's the terrifying part. You don't know what it is, why it is in there, or if it is better if it is locked in that room. You aren't able to figure out whether you should root for its escape or pray to whatever deity that it stays in the room. Your imagination has become your own worst enemy. Those are my personal favorites. Also, what I like about these newer films is that there is no monster. Typically, it is people who are doing these evil deeds, making it more realistic. If a person just stopped and thought about what other humans were capable of, they would be too scared to leave the house."

"Says the woman who just flew to Japan to locate a mystery man that may or may not be involved in the abduction of her older brother, who was kidnapped because she asked questions about men she was asked to kill, later finding out they are modern day slave traders." John winced, fearing that he pushed the conversation too far.

"When you say it like that it makes me look like I am not scared of anything." Amelia's lazy smile calmed John's nerves.

"Aren't you?"

Amelia thought about it. Sure there was the obvious fear of danger towards her loved ones, but what else was she scared of? "I guess there is not a lot that scares me. Either I am incredibly brave or incredibly stupid and naïve."

"You, naïve? Doubtful. You might not be scared of much because you have already seen the worst in humanity. You were right before, there aren't monsters out there, just people doing bad things. Perhaps you only fear what you can't control, which is not much." John looked pensive, but slightly haunted.

_He's thinking about Afghanistan again._ Amelia nodded towards the screen. "The movie is almost over. Why don't we watch something ridiculous and funny next?"

Turned out, they did not need the second movie. Instead, they opted to watch the news in the vain attempt to locate William Tate. Within twenty minutes, Amelia was sound asleep. John watched her for a bit, amused that similar to when she was awake, Amelia did not sleep without being noticed. She was spread on her stomach, hair in every direction, and her limbs taking up over half of the king sized bed. _How is that even possible?_ Feeling fatigued himself, John settled on the other side of the bed, careful to give Amelia her space.

The next morning, Amelia woke up slowly, wondering why she felt so warm. It wasn't until John shifted and tightened the arm he had around her waist that she figured it out. _Goddamn it, of course he's a cuddler._ Looking around, Amelia tried to find a way to escape. Her eyes settled on a stray pillow. _Perfect. _She used her foot to drag the pillow closer and stealthily pushed it between herself and the doctor. John opened his eyes. "If you wanted to get up, all you had to do was say something."

Before Amelia could reply, her mobile rang. It was Sherlock.

**While you were engaging in what I hope was sleeping, I found where you can find Mr. Tate. Reservations at Nodaiwa at 7pm. Do endeavor to not screw this up.-SH**

**If you don't want to hear the answer, don't ask the question. We got this covered, no need to sound like Mycroft.-AH**

Amelia handed her mobile to John so that he could read the message as well. She tried not to be overly excited about having an occasion to wear her new dress. Hopefully, it won't be the kind of night where she has to worry about bloodstains. "Think we could squeeze some sightseeing in?"

John shot Amelia a cheeky grin. "I suppose we can handle that. Why don't you pop in the shower first? I'd hate for you to blame me for letting you out in public without looking your best."

Letting out a squeal of delight, Amelia hopped out of bed and practically danced to the bathroom. John smiled at the rare display of youth. After the door shut and John heard Amelia singing off-key, he flipped down the blankets and stared at his morning erection. "Alright, that's enough of your nonsense" he muttered as he grasped himself.


	8. Meeting William Tate

Amelia sang her way through a very delightful shower. With the final words to "Double Heart," she swaggered out and wrapped a towel around herself. Using a second towel, she scrunched her hair carefully in order to maintain her usual curls without having to deal with frizz. As she was bent over, the door to the bathroom opened. Amelia could see John's feet in the doorway. "Need something?" she yelled.

"Um, no, I'm ok, sorry!"

Amelia flipped back up. "It's alright. I'm almost done here anyway." _What is he so nervous about? Flushed face and…_ John turned away from Amelia before she could finish deducing him.

Shrugging, she grabbed her hair cream and walked out of the bathroom and into the main room. Amelia dressed quickly into a pair of dark grey trousers and a light pink tank, throwing an oatmeal colored long cardigan over it. As she was finishing styling her hair, John emerged from the bathroom, also wearing an oatmeal colored jumper. Amelia instantly pointed at his suitcase, "Get a new one out. We will not be the couple that matches."

John stopped and stared at Amelia. "A couple?"

"Our cover, remember?"

"Right."

Amelia looked at John. "This isn't going to be awkward, is it? Because if you think it is strange being in a pretend relationship with me, an actual one would be worse."

"This isn't awkward, Amelia. I am just worried about what we're going to face when we meet Tate. Just because he left before getting involved with the attack yesterday does not mean he is someone to be trifled with."

While Amelia tried not to squirm with embarrassment, John captured her chin with his hand and grazed her lips with his. "Stop doubting this. Please."

He then stepped away and grabbed a dark blue button down shirt. To keep herself from staring, Amelia looked up sights to visit. She jumped mildly when John placed a hand on her lower back. "Where to first?" he asked.

They returned to the hotel at 5pm to change. Amelia refreshed her makeup and put on her dress, pairing it with black knee high boots. She was grateful that the boots did not have a heel. Nothing was more troublesome than trying to escape danger in unfamiliar territory wearing stilettos. Draping a silver chain around her neck, Amelia steeled herself, a practice that she did often when about to confront a potential enemy. John knocked at the door. "We have to go if we want to be on time."

_So much for being fashionably late._

Standing outside of Nodaiwa, Amelia easily spotted William Tate at the bar. Not only was his towering height noticeable, so was his behavior. Amelia and John watched as Tate took shots of sake one after another and leered at the servers. Fighting the urge to walk in and slap the man, Amelia waited until his face was flushed and his gait was unsteady as he walked to his table. She looked at John. "Wait in the back. I think it would be easier to get information out of him if I were alone."

John nervously shifted his weight and licked his lips. "I don't like this plan, how am I supposed to know if you are safe?"

"I'll be in the middle of a busy restaurant. He won't try anything there. Besides, homeboy is lonely and I estimate he will only need another three shots before he is telling me everything while staring at my chest." Amelia kissed John on the cheek. "If anything starts to go down, I'm sure the staff will be gossiping about it. You'll be able to hear about it from the kitchen door, which incidentally, would be the door he will try to run out of if he is attempting an escape."

Looking slightly more sure, John ran his hand through Amelia's hair. "Be careful. Your brothers will kill me if I let anything happen to you. And we won't even mention what I would do to myself."

Shooting John a confident grin, Amelia started to walk backwards to the door. "Calm down, I got this."

"You know, I don't think I'll ever get used to you using American slang when you sound like a Brit." John made his way towards the alley, where the kitchen door was located, and pulled out his gun while keeping it out of sight.

Amelia walked through the front door. She bypassed the host by waving and with an American accent saying "There's someone waiting for me, thanks."

She made her way to Tate's table. Sure enough, as soon as Amelia was in eyesight, Tate's expression changed from bored and drunk to hopeful. Stopping in front of him, she smiled. "This probably will sound ridiculous, but my date stood me up and I am too embarrassed to walk out of here just yet. Do you mind if I sit here?"

Tate made a show of getting up to pull out her chair. Amelia adjusted her neckline so that when she moved to sit, Tate got a deep glimpse of her cleavage. Sure enough, he took the bait and almost planted his face against her breasts. _Don't punch him until AFTER you get the information! _Amelia shyly smiled and watched Tate sit down through her eyelashes. In her most innocent voice, she stammered "Unless you have someone meeting you. I should have asked if you were expecting your wife, I'm so sorry."

Tate took a large drink of his wine. _Switching alcohol? Why Mr. Tate, you should know what that does to a person's mental state. _He leaned forward, almost as if he was confessing a secret. "No need to apologize, there's no wife meeting me. I am actually here alone. But then again, there's always room for another on my trip."

_He talks with a British accent, but it's a fake. He is originally from Scotland. The only reason why he is being so accommodating is because he knows that if he picks up an extra, it won't look as suspicious. Playing incognito? Makes sense, he's on the run. Drinking heavily as though he is feeling guilty. Guilty about leaving? No. This is a long-term guilt. Tate is, deep down, a good man who was put in a bad situation. I can work with that._

"That must be nice, being on vacation. I'm a student at the University here, so I'm afraid that as soon as I leave, it is land of textbooks and lectures." Amelia shrugged. "But then again, it is Friday night. Who's to judge if I let my hair down for once?"

Tate cackled. "Ain't going to be me, that's for damn sure!"

He finished his wine and immediately ordered two more. For such a busy place, the service was impeccable, as two fresh glasses of wine were placed in front of them within a minute. Amelia took a sip of her wine and pretended to scan the menu that Tate handed her. "It's on me, sweetheart!"

Amelia looked at him again. Under the intoxication, interest, and guilt, there was a thread of loneliness in Tate's eyes. Groaning internally, Amelia changed tactics. "Actually, I should tell you the truth."

Tate looked up; a shred of fear was evident for a moment before he hid his expression under a veil of amused confusion. "And what's that? Are you actually a prostitute? I can pay well."

"Perhaps I should introduce myself, as I never told you my name, I am Amelia Holmes and you were hired to abduct my brother and leave me in an alley. You should really slow down on the drinking."

"Oh shit, oh fuck. How did you find me?" Tate groaned.

He tried to distract Amelia by dropping his head in his right hand, his left arm reaching for a gun.

Amelia was quicker. She tapped his inner thigh with her blade. "Not so fast. I know that you weren't actually there so I am not here to kill you. I just have questions and if you give me the truth, I'll let you walk away without any injuries."

Tate glared at Amelia. "Just leave it alone. You have no idea what you are up against." He stood and threw some money on the table. "I hope they didn't beat your brother too badly, give him my regards."

"They still have him."

That threw Tate, either that or the fact that Amelia balanced the knife with her feet and began to pull out her own gun. He immediately sat down. Amelia smiled again. "Good boy. You clearly know what I am facing and you now know if you try to leave, I will kill you without a single thought. So how about we level the playing field?"

Tate grabbed his cloth napkin and waved it. "Alright, I'll give. It's not like my own people aren't hunting me down as we speak. What do you know already?"

"Just that I had to kill five men, all of whom were involved in slave trading in one way or another. Someone threatened Mycroft into lying to me so I would perform such an act. While Mycroft was explaining, his driver pulled into an alley and we were ambushed. They knocked me out and pushed me to the ground, but there is no evidence that Mycroft left the car."

Tate stared at Amelia for so long, she began to worry that he was waiting for backup to arrive. Finally, he spoke. "You know more than what I expected, smart girl. The men were not just random slave traders, they each had their own specialty within their countries. Except for the man in Taiwan, he had two, sex and manufacturing. Apparently, it is easier to catch and prosecute sex slave traders than labor ones."

"Why is that?"

"Because most of the people who deal in labor slaves are quite powerful and influential. If anyone suspected them of owning or employing slaves, they just pushed a heavy pile of money over and the investigation stopped. And if it wasn't money, it was political favors."

"Makes sense. Go on."

"Recently, there has been a change in the trading industry. Someone emerged, picked out slave traders from each specialization, and is merging them together. No one has seen his face, save the five you just killed off, and they don't know his real name either. Rumors are spreading that he is quite the important figure."

"So someone is creating a monopoly of slave traders. He leads them all, makes them do all the dirty work, and takes a cut for himself. I assume that the five men that I was told to assassinate were the regional leaders. They saw the main guy as they were getting things started and now that their jobs are done, I killed them off so his identity will remain a secret." Amelia felt a cold knot form in her stomach.

Tate looked impressed. "You really are smarter than what you lead on. The boss just thought you were a pair of boobs with a gun. Good thing, otherwise, you would be dead as soon as you killed the last one."

"You know him?"

"No. I was just contracted, in a matter of speaking. We were hired to keep an eye on you and Mycroft. I was watching your brother, which is why I didn't recognize you."

"Then why did you leave? Your job was almost over."

"I just couldn't do it anymore. You should know how it feels; the rush of a new job, the satisfaction when you succeed, and then the rut that you fall into between jobs. It doesn't get better or easier. You want a real life, one that includes a family? Good fucking luck." Tate sat back. "That's all I know. Now if you don't mind…"

William Tate never got to finish his statement. As he was trying to stand, a gunshot rang out and Tate fell back, clutching his chest. Amelia did not stop to think. Using the chaos that erupted, Amelia dodged through the crowd and into the kitchen. She did not slow down as she plowed to the backdoor. Flying out of the restaurant, Amelia saw John immediately and grabbed his arm. "We're made. Let's get the hell out of here."

John did not need to be told twice. He pulled Amelia out of the alley. They initially tried to take a direct route to the hotel, but stopped short as the gunshots rang out again, not three feet from them. John spun Amelia around. "I know a different route, come on!"

Both of them took out their guns as they ran. They made a couple of hard rights, trying to double back on their assailants, but they could not see anything out of the ordinary. "Where the fuck are they?" whispered Amelia.

"I don't know, but we just need to leave. No sense in trying to be a hero if you can't even see your enemy."

"Works well for me, Tate already told me everything."

They continued to run, guns out, and eyes open. John glanced at Amelia, looking for any wounds.

"And you believed him?"

"Who?"

"Tate"

"A guilty conscience does not lie during confession."

"How do you know he felt guilty?"

"The man was Catholic, they are known for feeling guilty over an extra stick of gum. It was an easy deduction."

John pulled Amelia into another dark alley. "I think we've lost them."

Amelia listened for any footsteps coming down the alley, not a soul. She walked towards the street again and only saw citizens milling about, some looking strangely at the woman who was peering out of an alley with wild hair and a hand behind her back. "We're ok."

John breathed a sigh of relief and wrapped his arms around Amelia's waist. "That actually went better than I thought."

"Indeed. Now, I think we need a change of scenery, to be honest."

"Why's that?"

Amelia smirked. She tilted her head back and whispered into John's ear. To the innocent onlooker, it appeared that a married couple was having a quiet moment in the alley. In reality, Amelia's words were almost causing John to have a coronary. He leaned back. "You want to do what? Here?"

Rolling her eyes, Amelia pulled John back to the sidewalk. "If you are that eager, I can accommodate. However, we have a perfectly good hotel room. Perhaps we should start there."

"Start?"

"Start."

"I don't know how you can go from running for your life to suggesting what you just did, but I am not going to argue." John was amazed he could still talk after all the blood in his body rushed to a particular area.

Amelia turned and bit John's lower lip. "Blame it on the adrenaline."

"Bloody adrenaline."


	9. The Morning After

The next morning, Amelia woke to find herself once again wrapped in John Watson. He was also in the process of waking, but had started rubbing her back with a content smile. "Definitely worth the wait."

Amelia eased herself out of his grasp, wincing gently at the bruises on her back and hips. She padded to the bathroom. As she looked at her reflection, she tried to come up with all the reasons why she should regret her decision last night. But she couldn't think of anything. _That was too intense to be legal. _Trying to hide out longer, she showered, fixed her hair, put on makeup, filed her nails, and put all of her toiletries away. Amelia could not bring herself to come out yet, but did not know why. As she ran out of ideas, there was a light tapping on the door. Without knowing exactly why, she gathered her thoughts and opened the door. John was leaning against the frame, a soft look on his face. "Why are you avoiding me?"

Running her hands through her hair, Amelia tried to find the right words. "I just think we need to talk about this."

"No." John kept his gentle tone.

Amelia was surprised. "No?"

"I am so sick of talking. Aren't you? The time to overanalyze every bloody aspect of us has come and gone. I just want to be with you."

A strange sensation erupted in Amelia's chest. She was not sure if it was an anxiety attack or sheer happiness. Amelia knew she only had two choices. If she chose John, he would be constantly in danger. Granted, it would not be a significant change from the status quo, but Amelia was not sure if she could handle worrying about herself, her family, and her lover. But if she said no, there would always be a time that she rejected him and she would always know that he accepted her walking away. _He can handle this._ She stepped forward and placed her hand on his hip. "Fine. No more talking. What do you have in mind now?"

John grinned and leaned in close, his lips a breath away from hers. "I'm going to pack. Our flight is in three hours."

He then stepped away and handed Amelia her suitcase. John ushered her out of the bathroom, kissed the top of her head, and shut the door. Amelia stood by the door momentarily before calling out "You might want to be careful, I can get quite creative when I am feeling vengeful."

Twelve hours later, they found themselves back at 221B Baker Street. Sherlock was out, presumably annoying Lestrade over a case involving a missing murder weapon. Amelia and John took advantage of the empty flat by christening the hallway, the stairs to John's room, and the doorway. Finally exhausted, they settled back on the couch. Amelia sat, cross-legged with John's head on her lap. She could not imagine that was comfortable, but John seemed content enough. "Mycroft is still missing." Amelia murmured, laying her head back.

It wasn't until within the last five minutes that Amelia finally placed her feelings. _Guilt. _John picked up on Amelia's mood immediately and wrapped an arm around her waist. "I know, love, but we are going to find him."

"How? We have no idea who this boss is, where he is located, why he wants Mycroft, and what he is planning next. I feel like all we did in Tokyo was piss him off." Amelia fought back the urge to cry in frustration.

John looked like he wanted to gather her in his arms, but resisted. Instead, he sat up and they turned to face each other. Amelia was grateful. She did not want to be seen as weak or in need of comforting. What she needed most was answers, or at the very least, a plan. "We are miles ahead of where we were two days ago." John braced his hands on Amelia's knees. "Sure, we don't know who he is, but we know what he's done. I think between the three of us, we can pinpoint the most likely suspects. As for Mycroft, the man singlehandedly runs the government; he can keep himself alive against one man."

"If he was really skilled, he could have just talked his way out of it." Amelia attempted a smile, but it came out as a pained grimace.

"You still think he's involved."

"I don't want to think that. But it's adding up." Frustrated, Amelia tried to stand. But John held her in place. "We're looking at a powerful and influential person who has ties with multiple countries. Mycroft could talk to anyone in any country without raising any red flags."

"It isn't Mycroft." Sherlock breezed through the door. "For god's sake, John, get your hands off my sister. It's bad enough that you two are now dating, but I refuse to be subjected to the visual."

Amelia and John separated. Amelia looked at Sherlock, who stared back. Rolling her eyes, Amelia gestured for Sherlock to continue. "You were saying about Mycroft?"

"Right. I just had to delete that scene momentarily. Like I was saying, it isn't Mycroft. On paper, maybe, he has the resources. However, Mycroft lacks the desire to get his hands dirty in such a business. Mycroft likes to believe that his actions are for Queen and country." Sherlock sat in his chair, hands clasped under his chin. "We need to find someone who is used to working in the seedy underbelly of England."

"You think he's English?" asked Amelia.

"He threatened a powerful English man with his family, who also lives in London. It's not a hard stretch. Use your brain, sister, I know you have one." Sherlock closed his eyes in thought.

Annoyed, Amelia moved to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Almost instinctively, John joined her to lend a hand. Sherlock used the moment to flop onto the newly

vacated couch. Smiling, he squirmed until he found his usual comfortable position. Amelia stopped in the doorway and cleared her throat awkwardly. Sherlock opened one eye curiously. "Um, Sherlock? I don't think it would be advised for you to sink in too much to the couch."

Both eyes were now open and studying Amelia. "Why wouldn't I want to lie on my couch? It is still in the same shape as I left it." Finally Sherlock caught on. He leapt up with a look of utter disgust. "Are you kidding me?! On my couch? Is nothing sacred to you? I demand a new piece of furniture!"

In a huff, Sherlock stalked to his room and slammed the door. John looked at Amelia, his face caught between embarrassed and amused. "Was that really necessary?"

Shrugging, Amelia collapsed onto the couch. "What can I say? I wanted my spot back."

John began to facetiously question his decision to date his flatmate's sister. He walked to Sherlock's door and rapped on the wood. "Sherlock, please come out. The couch is safe, I promise."

Sherlock refused to open the door. Instead, his muffled voice rang out "Why should I leave my room? Did you desecrate my bed as well?"

"Jesus, Sherlock. I'm not some desperate teenage boy. Just come out so we can get our next steps planned."

John breathed a sigh of relief as the door opened. He followed Sherlock to the sitting room and glared at Amelia. _Don't you dare tell him otherwise, we need his help. _Amelia rolled her eyes, but kept her silence. Sherlock perched on his usual chair. "Well?" He inquired. "I thought I was joining a great meeting of the minds."

Resisting the urge to throw the scalding hot mug at her brother's head, Amelia sighed and adopted a more patient tone. "So we've established that Mycroft is not among one of the suspects based off the reasoning that he would be working under a patriotic guise. Clearly we are looking at someone in power who is morally ambiguous. This person is used to manipulating others for personal gain and with this personal gain, obtained professional success. Sociopath? It would only be so convenient, wouldn't it? In their mind, though, they feel as though they are doing the world a service. The rich and powerful gets some help by people they know won't end up being reporters getting a scoop and the slaves get out of their home countries, where there may be political turmoil or an overall lack of rights. Of course, the benefits for the slaves are entirely imagined, but sound better when he has to defend it against himself."

"He?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"He. We are talking about someone who works within high society and the political realm. Unfortunately, it is more realistic for a man to go unnoticed than a woman."

Amelia studied her brother. To the untrained eye, he seemed unimpressed. However Amelia caught the small lift at the corner of his mouth. She must have done well. Hopefully this meant that he would stop talking about her and John. True to his nature, Sherlock scoffed. "Try not to get ahead of yourself, Amelia, I'm just appreciative that what came out of your mouth wasn't complete drivel."

"Fine, jackass. What are your thoughts?"

With a smirk, Sherlock began, producing a laptop with a flourish. "I've already picked out our most likely suspects. Fortunately, there are only four that we need to focus on. First, we have Charles Knight." Sherlock pulled up a picture of a rather average looking man in his mid-forties. "Assistant commissioner at New Scotland Yard, he's been vying for the commissioner position, of course. I've witnessed his tactics. A bit obvious for my taste but others are buying into it."

"So you think he's getting frustrated with the lack of prestige of NSY and venturing into other capitals?" Amelia continued at Sherlock's nod. "He would be able to keep abreast of any developments if they arise and he would be able to send officers to spy on anyone who he felt was a threat. Alright, it makes sense. Who else?"

After clicking around momentarily, Sherlock produced another picture. Amelia could not help but laugh. "I'm surprised that you didn't prepare a powerpoint, Sherlock."

Pouting, Sherlock closed the laptop and held it against his chest. Amelia rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine, you were miles ahead of us, oh smart one. Please dazzle us with your massive intellect."

Sherlock was not easily persuaded. "This is serious, Amelia. You think the people who were shooting at you and John are going to stop now that you have left Tokyo?"

That sobered Amelia up. "My apologies. Please continue."

"Tate Monroe. American- born but managed to secure a position at MI-6." A pair of bright blue eyes stared out from under some blonde fringe. "Not much is known about him, so I gather that he is a spy by trade. He seems to be the sort that people will forget easily. Also, it would be likely that he could have easily used his American contacts to secure the baby-selling trade that Patrick McCarthy was involved in"

Sherlock spun the computer around again and brought up a third picture. Even Amelia recognized the face. "Joseph Watts, assistant to the head of security for Buckingham Palace. He has quite the colorful past, though he was never caught, which is why he was able to obtain the position. Quite the sneaky one, ideal for maintaining a double life. Now, here is who I believe the culprit to be." Sherlock clicked on the next tab. Amelia and John almost choked when they saw the picture. "Cardinal Frost from the Westminster Cathedral. He is used to dealing with all sorts of unsavory tasks and is affiliated with many of the rich and powerful."

Amelia was speechless, fortunately, John recovered faster. "Sherlock, the man devoted himself to helping at-risk families. There is no way that he would be involved with this."

Sherlock looked unimpressed. "Clearly this is a ruse to distract us from his actual intentions."

Confused, Amelia replied "Sherlock, where is this coming from? I can see the other three men as potential suspects. But I think that your staunch atheist view might be skewing your thought process."

John spoke up. "Why are you so against the church, Sherlock?"

Amelia glanced at John. "You don't know about the great Existential schism of Sherlock Holmes?"

"Can't say that I have, though I am sure I would have remembered."

Sherlock mumbled something under his breath. "Sorry, mate. What was that?"

"Dinosaurs, John! They can't account for dinosaurs!"

Amelia did not think that John could look more confused if a flying monkey walked in smoking a cigar and playing a banjo. "You lost me."

Sherlock faced the window. John nonverbally pleaded with Amelia for an explanation. Amelia gestured towards her brother. "In a way, he's right. The fact that he never got a straight answer about dinosaurs caused his disbelief. One Sunday, I was in my bible class and he was in the teen group when Sherlock asked where dinosaurs were referenced in the bible. His teacher said that there was a specific word that was used to describe a creature. He then pointed out that there were many species of dinosaurs and that no moron could ever use the same name for a brontosaurus and a pterodactyl."

"And then what happened?"

"The simple-minded twit, who by the way was sleeping with the organ player's husband, told me that I just had to have faith. Faith! As if turning a blind eye to this glaring error would fix everything."

John slowly let out a low whistle. "Well, now I know."

Amelia idly wondered how she could get the conversation back onto track. Her hopes were dashed when she heard footsteps on the stairs. All three individuals looked at each other, trying to figure out who it was. The footsteps were too light to be Lestrade, too angry to be Molly, and too quiet to be Mrs. Hudson. Fortunately, they did not have to wait long before the door swung open. A rather irritated looking Anthea stood in the frame, a murderous look on her face. "Now which one of you berks thought it was a good idea was it to leave me out of the loop?"

**A/N Please review? It'll make you feel good, I promise!**


	10. Mycroft?

Anthea did not move from her original position, instead, she raised her eyebrow and studied the trio. "If any of you idiots bothered to contact me, I would have had Mycroft back by now."

Amelia did not know what to say. Frankly, she was unnerved by the fact that Anthea was looking at them instead of her Blackberry. As a matter of fact, she did not see Anthea's mobile anywhere. Anthea scoffed at the silence and finally, she moved to the center of the room and held out her hand. "Your laptop, if I may." Sherlock handed over the computer, his face full of distrust. Once she had a firm grip, he stepped back quickly. "Calm down, Sherlock. Mycroft prepared for the event of his abduction. About three years ago, he was injected with a tracking device. Only I was given that knowledge and, of course, the log in information."

"So what would have happened if both you and Mycroft were taken?" Amelia was skeptical.

"I have an app on my mobile, if a text is not sent out at least once per hour, an automatic message is sent to a trusted person with the same information." Anthea looked amused at how little Mycroft's siblings knew the extent that he took to ensure his and their safety.

Within seconds, Anthea pulled up a website and entered the necessary password. Amelia, Sherlock, and John gathered around the screen. Sure enough, there was a pulsating green dot just outside of London proper. After watching it for a moment, Amelia squinted and leaned further. "Is the dot moving?"

Anthea nodded, smiling a little. "He must be walking. Shall we go get him?"

The group ventured downstairs to the waiting black car. _Strange how we just always assume it's going to be there. Is this Mycroft's way of reminding us that he is constantly around?_ It was quiet in the car. Anthea, freshly reunited with her mobile, sat in the passenger seat while Amelia squeezed in between Sherlock and John. All three had their eyes elsewhere: Sherlock stared straight ahead, Amelia looked out the side window, and John gazed at the floor. Occasionally, his eyes would flicker to Amelia, she looked nervous. John put his hand on her knee to comfort her. Amelia smiled a little and moved to grasp the aforementioned hand. Before she could, Sherlock fixed a steely glare at the couple. John immediately pulled his hand away and Amelia resisted the urge to slap her brother. All three looked up when they heard Anthea. "Just up ahead. He stuck to the main roads."

Within a few minutes, they could see a figure limping up the side of the street. The driver pulled over about 50 meters away. As the man walked closer, they could all tell that it was not Mycroft. Anthea stormed out of the car. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

The man was scarcely more than a boy. When he smiled, his top lip receded enough to show his upper gums, which indicated that he recently had braces removed. "Look" he started, voice was slightly shaky. "I was just told to give you this. They have my girlfriend, I am just following orders."

He handed over an envelope and quickly ran away. Anthea turned and opened the letter. Amelia did not realize that she had vacated the car until she stepped next to Mycroft's assistant. "What is that?"

Anthea closed her eyes in frustration. "It's a ransom note. But that's not all." She opened her hand to reveal a bloody chip. "He took out the tracking device."

"Oh my god, where was it?" Amelia was terrified to hear the answer.

"Just his arm. He did it deliberately so it could be removed without killing him." Anthea took some steadying breaths and looked at Amelia, looking helpless. "What do we do now?"

Amelia took the ransom note. The envelope was unsealed and the letter itself was typed and only contained one sentence.

**A Holmes for a Holmes, that's all I want.**

Instead of going back to Baker Street, the group congregated at Sweet Retreat. Amelia wanted to make sure Jane was handling the store without too many issues. Upon entering through the front door, Jane launched herself at Amelia. Turned out, the only concern Jane had was a crushing worry for her boss. "Oh my god! I thought you were dead. Sherlock said that you had to leave suddenly but he sounded worried."

Behind Jane, Amelia could see Sherlock cross his arms and shake his head. She didn't know if he was referring to Jane's comment or suggesting that no one should mention the ransom note. Amelia fixed a smile on her face as she eased her barista back. "Everything is fine, Jane. Thanks for your concern. There was a small family issue, but it was not a big deal. I think Sherlock was just pissed that John came with me." She finished with a discreet wink.

Amelia felt, rather than saw, John blush deeply. Jane went from distraught and worried to curious in record time. "Oh really?" Jane looked at John from head to toe. She had never really paid attention to him beforehand, so she figured that she was entitled to a longer once-over. To his credit, John stood confidently, even with a crimson face. Sherlock decided to come to the rescue. "Yes, John and Amelia are together. They are adorable and will make beautiful babies if Amelia can manage to stay out of trouble and if John can stay interesting. Are we done? There are things we need to discuss."

Jane rolled her eyes and mimed for Amelia to call her later before working her way to the back to begin the closing duties. Sherlock, Amelia, John and Anthea sat in the front corner table, which incidentally was the furthest they could all get from the front counter. Jane suddenly reappeared with a plate of biscuits, a few sausages and leftover scotch eggs. Everyone stopped and stared but Jane did not hesitate. She walked back, calling out "Don't argue, these are all going to waste and I can hear everyone's stomachs from the back!"

Anthea spoke first "While this is all fine and dandy, Mycroft is still missing and the person in charge is asking for one of you to get him back."

"It's me." Amelia's voice was husky.

"Over my dead body." Sherlock retorted.

"No, it could be potentially over Mycroft's dead body. I am the only connection between him and those men. But I think we are only focusing on the worst case scenario." Amelia's mind started whirling with options.

**Wham!** Sherlock's palm slammed on the tabletop. He glared at Amelia, but kept his voice low. "I don't care if your plan is all sunshine and kittens. You are not going in there."

Amelia was not fazed. "And what happens when you go in? You aren't the Holmes he wants, so he'll just keep you AND Mycroft until I show up."

"Sherlock has a point." John said. "You can't just keep putting yourself in these situations. One of these days, you won't come back."

Amelia ignored the twinge in her chest at John's words, the sting of the small betrayal. "I'm already involved. This isn't a time where one Holmes is as good as another, so back off."

"The last time I backed off, I had to carry your unconscious and bloody body to John, hoping that he would put you together." Sherlock couldn't lift his gaze above the glass tabletop.

Amelia knew exactly why he refused to make eye contact. "Don't even try that shit with me, Lock. You just want to find out who the boss is. Look at you, your knee is bouncing and I can practically see the pulse in your neck. You are itching for action because you feel like you were missing out when I went to Tokyo. This isn't something we can take turns at!"

Anthea jumped in. "Amelia's right, it has to be her. No amount of arguing will change it. So, instead of fighting against the inevitable, why don't we create a solid plan to ensure the safety of both Mycroft and Amelia?"

Amelia nodded. "Thanks, Anthea. But I think that even if we had a foolproof plan, we won't know what I am getting into until I am there, so there is a huge risk. It would be easier if I went in without a plan, that way, I can be flexible and adapt in the moment. Sometimes, I had to do that in the past and it works better than you would think."

"No. Absolutely not." John's jaw was clenched and his fists were in balls. "Did you expect us to be alright with you walking into a dangerous situation with no back up or no plans?"

"John, I understand why you're upset. I would feel the same way. But if these people have even the slightest hint that I am not alone, we are all dead. They don't fuck around. I can do this, so the question isn't if I expect you all to be alright with this, but why don't you trust me when this is what I've been doing for the last 13 years?" Amelia put her head in her hands. "The situation is getting more dangerous the more people we bring into it."

John's expression warmed to a look of concern. "I do trust you, but…"

"You don't trust me. If you did, there would be no 'but' to your statement." Amelia knew she was being harsh, but it was the only way for the discussion to work out in her favor.

"So we just sit idly by as you throw yourself in front of a potentially quick-triggered head of a slave trade?"

Amelia could tell from John's tone that he was about to give up. "Pretty much."

"So how do we let this mystery man know that we are accepting this ludicrous ransom?"

Sherlock pointed to Anthea, who was busy typing on her mobile. "I believe that was already taken care of."

Anthea smirked and waved her Blackberry. "Quite simple, I just hacked onto John's blog and wrote a lightly veiled acceptance as a post with my number as contact for further instruction."

John was bordering on irate at his point. "Why do I even bother with a bloody password? "

Sherlock shrugged. "I keep telling you that, John. But for some reason, you insist on privacy. Is anyone going to have that last biscuit?"

Amelia looked at the plates. Somehow, during the discussion, they managed to polish off almost all of the food, save one remaining biscuit and a bite of egg that was still on the fork that Amelia was holding.

Putting the fork down, Amelia weighed her new options. She was grateful that she would be getting Mycroft on her own as including John and Sherlock would only endanger all of their lives. But why did this mystery man act so rashly? Amelia thought about the amount of progress that was made after Mycroft was abducted. Realistically, beforehand, they had very little to go on. Mycroft was getting anonymous threats that would end once Amelia finished the hits. Clearly, the turning point was when Mycroft disclosed the true identities of her targets. So why was it so threatening to this person that Amelia knew the truth? The answer hit her so hard that she lost her breath for about a minute. No one else noticed as Anthea's phone chimed with the details of where the trade would happen.

Amelia tried to calm her racing heart as she came to terms with the knowledge that she must have already met the boss.


	11. Get off the roof, get off the roof!

**Hello my lovelies! I've decided to throw the whole "only post once or twice a week" thing out the window. Enjoy the chapter!**

Amelia was getting really fucking tired of meeting in goddamn warehouses. So when the instructions left by Mr. Cloak and Daggers requested that she meet at the Waterloo Bridge, Amelia felt slightly relieved. However, that feeling of relief faded when a dark vehicle pulled up. She recognized it as the one that took off with Mycroft approximately three days ago. Shivering slightly against the cool wind, Amelia leaned down to try to get a visual on the driver. To make it easier, the passenger window opened. "Get in" a dry voice rang out.

The door swung open and Amelia did not hesitate. Sliding in, she studied the driver. He was a male in his late twenties with dark hair and skin wearing an Armani suit. Amelia figured he was new to the organization since he still managed to smile at her. "Gee" she purred. "I sure hope you didn't mistake me for a prostitute."

Then again, her blue jeans and leather jacket might have led him to the correct conclusion. She held out her hand. "Amelia Holmes, quite nice to meet you."

The man stared at her hand, as if he expected it to detach and attack him. Finally, he took his right hand off the steering wheel and placed it in hers. His flesh was surprisingly warm, which told Amelia that he had either been in the car for a while, had been wearing gloves while outside, or drove the car out of a structure. Amelia hoped fervently that they were not going to another godforsaken warehouse. "Dash" was all he said.

"Is that your real name?" Amelia inquired.

A sideways glance was the only answer she got. "So" she continued. "What is the plan for the big show? "

Dash looked slightly confused and suspicious at Amelia's cavalier attitude. "If you can manage to behave yourself, it should go quite easily. Your brother is being held by someone else. Once the boss gets the word from me that you are here, he will give out the order to let your brother go."

Faking a shocked expression, Amelia exclaimed "Behave? That just takes the fun out of everything."

At Dash's stern look, Amelia rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine, fine, you know I am going to go along with this ridiculous plan."

The drive became quiet after that. _He must not be that new, normally I could have gotten more information but he looks too suspicious. Maybe they warned him about me._ Amelia leaned back in the seat and stared at the passing view of the city. _Let's give the lad a few minutes of silence and see what happens. _ After about 15 minutes, Dash became restless. "How are you so calm about this?"

Amelia smiled internally. Continuing her faux relaxation, she looked over. "You know, after a while in this business, you tend to stop sweating the small things. There will always be a mystery car taking you to a potentially dangerous place. Best to save your energy."

Dash nodded, but Amelia could tell from his whitened knuckles that this exchange was not going to be as seamless has he previously let on. _What else can he tell me? _Amelia pondered a moment before speaking again. "I have to say, though, the hardest part is trying to maintain a healthy relationship."

She saw Dash straighten in his seat slightly and his breathing became faster. _Bingo. _Amelia went on. "I mean, really, either they are in the same business and could pull a gun on you as easily as they can kiss you or you try to keep them out of it and they become a constant threat because your enemies like playing with your soft spot."

Amelia noticed that Dash had tuned out during the latter part of her monologue. _So he is dating someone that he works with. Interesting. _Dash cleared his throat. "But if you were as good at what you do as you are rumored, you should be able to tell when someone is about to turn on you."

Though she looked solemn as she shook her head, Amelia felt like dancing a little. _This guy is practically handing me information._ "Not necessarily. All it takes is one weak moment and the right amount of money between when you see each other last."

Watching carefully, Amelia saw Dash relax his eyes a little while keeping his body taut. "That is a bit nerve-wracking."

_He is trying to fool me. Dash must have noticed that he gave away some information inadvertently so now he is faking his nervousness to keep me thinking that he is with someone who can turn against him. Either he is incredibly trusting in his partner or his partner is the one who handles all the money. _"So this whole time I was mistaken. I thought the boss was a man when in fact, it is your girlfriend."

In a maneuver that was almost too fast to see, Dash pulled out a handgun and aimed it at Amelia's head. Amelia laughed. "Tisk tisk, kept man. I don't think your lady love would appreciate you killing me before she had a chance to play. And you do enjoy being decked out in all the latest fashions, don't you?"

Anticipating his next move, Amelia ducked and avoided the swinging gun that was intended to knock her unconscious. The car swerved dangerously. "Try not to scratch the car, love. I know it is a loaner." At Dash's darkened expression, Amelia threw her hands up, frustrated. "Just admit that I figured you out faster than you let on. Boo-hoo, another woman is smarter that you are. Get over it and keep driving."

Flinching a little at Amelia's sharp tone, Dash tucked his gun away and resumed driving. _So much for making a friend._ Amelia crossed her arms and scanned the scenery, hoping that she could identify where she was. Much to her dismay, she found that they had driven to a very posh neighborhood. _Who the hell is this bitch? _They kept driving for another thirty minutes while remaining in the same area. "Stop trying to get me lost, idiot, I know where we are and no amount of circling the blocks is going to change that." Amelia snapped at Dash.

Glowering, Dash shot back "Here I thought I was doing you a favor and

postponing your inevitable death sentence."

Amelia groaned and rolled her eyes. "I really don't have time for these dramatics. Just pull in and let's get this over with."

Dash appeared shocked for a moment before composing himself to his regular surly mood. "Fine."

He jerked the wheel to the left and screeched in front of a nearby mansion. Amelia threw off her safety belt and opened the door. "I don't know who told you that being a whiny asshole is sexy, but rest assured, they were absolutely wrong."

Dash, also out of the car, held his hands up as if he was about to strangle Amelia. "God, I can't wait to see you die."

Amelia threw her head back and let out a deep belly laugh. As she composed herself, she looked Dash in the eye. "Sorry, son, but I'm afraid that you will be long dead before anything happens to me."

Whatever thread of patience Dash had left finally snapped. He grabbed Amelia by the arm and dragged her to the front door. Amelia waited until they paused so Dash could get his key out. "Isn't that sweet? You are trusted enough to have your own key."

She pretended to swoon as Dash practically growled. He raised his arm to backhand Amelia. Without thinking, Amelia sprang into action. As Dash's arm got closer, Amelia grabbed his wrist and yanked it behind his back. Dash yelled out in pain as the two bones strained and snapped under the pressure. Using that moment of agony, Amelia drew Dash to his knees. She withdrew the rock that was hidden in her jacket and smashed it against the back of Dash's head. Dash's eyes rolled back and he crumbled into a heap. Amelia looked over the unconscious body and decided that she did not want to take any chances. She straightened out his legs and brought the rock down again, breaking both shins. Dash seemed smarmy enough to try to sneak up behind her at an inopportune moment, now he'll definitely have some issues with that.

Amelia took the keys out of his hand, retrieved the gun out of his back pocket, and unlocked the front door. The security system began to beep. Amelia knew that she only had a few seconds to disarm it before it started to screech, letting anyone in the house know that she was coming in alone. _Fuck it. _Amelia began to walk further into the house, anticipating the loud noise that was about to be emitted. But that noise never came. In fact, the beeping stopped as well. Amelia looked up to see a camera fixed on her. Relieved that she did not have to deal with the annoyance of a security alarm, Amelia smiled at the camera and waved. A crackle of a loudspeaker rang out before a voice began speaking. "I really hope you did not kill him, he was my favorite pet after all."

Amelia shrugged. "Then I guess you shouldn't have sent him to get me. And what is with referring to others as 'pets?' I swear you are the second bad guy that I have fought to do so. Is this a British thing? Did I spend too much time Stateside and missed the memo?"

The voice did not seem amused. "If you could find your way up to the attic, we can be done with this nonsense."

"Gladly." Amelia muttered under her breath.

Just to piss the voice off, Amelia took her time and strolled through each of the rooms. Off the entryway was a large dining room, decorated in mahogany and Italian marble. Walking through the door, she found herself in the kitchen, which compared to the decadence of the rest of the house, seemed plain and utilitarian. Amelia directed her voice to a nearby camera "What? No special décor for the help? Pompous jerk."

Finding the back staircase, Amelia made her way upstairs. She bypassed the second floor and made her way to the third. The hardwood floors gleamed even though she was walking in darkness. In the middle of the hallway, between two paintings of elderly individuals that Amelia could give two shits about, was a ladder leading up to the attic. "I guess this marks the conclusion of the tour, ladies and gentlemen. Please don't forget to visit our lovely gift shop."

Amelia gritted her teeth and she climbed the ladder. The attic was undivided and stretched the length and width of the house. There was only one bare bulb lit at the northwest corner, Amelia made her way towards it. She moved slowly and quietly as to make it easier to hear if anyone else was moving around. Amelia looked to her left, jumped in shock, and nearly let out a shriek. At her feet were two lifeless bodies heaped together. Pulling out her newly acquired gun, Amelia scanned the space, looking for a potential threat. When she was nearly to the corner, she heard footsteps running in her direction. Amelia spun around and took aim. Mycroft burst into the light, running despite having his right leg drag behind, and shoved Amelia towards the windows. "Keep that out if you must, but let's get the hell out of here."

Amelia did not need to be told twice. She quickly wrapped her arm around Mycroft and supported his weak side. Together they ran to the end of the space. "How are we going to get down?" Amelia yelled.

"The fastest way possible, I suppose" was Mycroft's breathless answer.

_Oh shit. _Amelia raised the gun again and shot at the large pane glass. Fortunately, it was not bulletproof and shattered immediately. Amelia could see a large tree just below the gaping hole. "I really hope we are as closely related to monkeys as the Human Genome Project suggested" Amelia said as she adjusted her angle and estimated how far they would need to jump.

Mycroft and Amelia jumped onto the window ledge and out to the tree. They simultaneously reached their arms up and caught a branch. Amelia wrapped her legs around the branch and quickly worked her way to the trunk and to the lower branches. Finally, Amelia reached the lowest point and estimated a seven foot drop. Amelia carefully dropped down and landed on her feet but rolled out of the way to make room for her brother. Sure enough, as soon as Amelia was out from under the tree, Mycroft followed suit. He was the first one up and practically tore away from the house. "Please tell me that you ensured a way out of here." Mycroft asked hopefully.

Amelia just held up the ring of keys and made her way to the car. "Why did we have to get out so fast?"

Her answer came a moment later but not from Mycroft. A loud thundering cracked through the air and an instant rush of heat made Amelia glance back at the house. Within seconds, the entire mansion was up in flames. Not wanting to stick around and be spotted, Amelia and Mycroft reached the driveway and threw themselves in the car, Amelia behind the wheel and Mycroft in the passenger seat. Amelia started the car and sped away. Mycroft let out a small moan and held his hand to his side. As they passed under streetlights, Amelia tried to gauge the amount of injuries. Mycroft shook his head at her. "Don't worry, Amelia, I'm not on my deathbed. I'll just text John and have him prepare to stitch me up."

Amelia focused on driving. In the background, she could see the flashing lights of police and other emergency vehicles. Her throat dried up. "Mycroft, someone must have seen this car. They will be looking for us."

Mycroft looked at Amelia, incredulous, before a low chuckle escaped from his lips. "I guess you didn't see then."

"See what?" Amelia glanced over to Mycroft and noticed his hand was covered in dirt. "Did you honestly cover the license plate in mud? I thought you could get away with anything, Mr. British Government."

"I did not want to take that risk as I have no idea whose house I had just burned down." Mycroft was grinning like a schoolboy. "That was fun though. I haven't done anything like that since I was an intern."

"And here you frown on me setting things on fire. What do you mean you don't know whose house that was?"

"I only saw the boss's thugs. She kept herself out of sight, which was how I knew that they were not going to kill me." Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose as he tried to remember identifying information about the woman's tone. "And then she said that you accepted the ransom so I needed to think fast. One of her men was in charge of escorting me out. I exaggerated my injuries to he would be more inattentive before I attacked him at a red light. Once he was incapacitated, I merely doubled back and tampered with the gas line."

Amelia raised an eyebrow. "How did you manage to accomplish this so fast?"

Mycroft reached into the backseat and pulled out his umbrella. Grasping the handle, he gave it a twist and pulled out a long blade. Amelia could not hold back a peal of laughter. "Your umbrella doubles into a sword?! I knew that handle looked thick!"

Tucking the blade back in, Mycroft scoffed at his sister's clear amusement. "Dear sister, one must always be prepared whilst in my position."

"Shut up, Mycroft. That's brilliant." Amelia looked out the front window and was surprised to see they were in front of 221B. "I really need to pay attention when I drive."

"I'm never letting you handle a vehicle again."


	12. What the hell, Jane!

Three days after Mycroft and Jane made their great getaway, things had finally settled down. Amelia had been incredibly wrong to assume that all the action was over once they arrived to Sherlock and John's flat. Apparently, John did not appreciate being woken at odd hours to patch up a snarky middle-aged man. It did not help matters when Sherlock pointed out that he did not have a problem with stitching up a half-naked Amelia, which helped Mycroft connect the relationship between Amelia and John. Mycroft was already annoyed with Amelia for accepting the ransom. In his mind, he was only mere hours from escaping, but then he had to hang around to save his errant little sister. After many backhanded compliments (Mycroft), embarrassing deductions (Sherlock and Amelia), muttered cursing (John), and flying projectiles (Amelia again), everyone finally agreed that a few days away from each other was the best option.

And then John tried to steer Amelia towards his bedroom to get some sleep, which ultimately caused the Holmes brothers to band together in shared disgust and overprotection before turning on each other as soon as their mother was mentioned. John couldn't be sure if Amelia brought up the matriarch deliberately or not. But as soon as Sherlock and Mycroft started arguing about Christmas, Amelia left the flat and headed towards her own home. Being the smart man he was, John was sure to send Amelia some slightly indecent text messages for her travels.

On the third morning, Amelia sat in the window of the bakery after she and Jane completed the opening duties and the morning rush had tapered off. Jane unceremoniously threw a scone and a coffee towards her boss. Before Amelia could make an excuse to keep working, Jane fixed her with a glare that would make any lesser being cry and pointed to a chair. Grumbling, Amelia took the offered break. Before she sat down, she shot out "I thought I was supposed to be the boss here."

"You are, but if you work yourself to death, I would be out of a job. So for the sake of my sanity and bank account, please take a break." Jane sang out as she wiped down the front counter.

And that was how Amelia found herself staring out at the gloomy sky. Mornings like this made her miss the dry heat of Salt Lake City and reminisce about the rain in Seattle. Amelia knew to avoid having down time during these days, which in London, happened more than she cared for. When she stopped and remembered, she yearned for the freedom of her former life. She missed the excitement of planning her next hit and exploring new cities with her fake identity. But then Amelia would feel guilty about wanting to go back. It was infinitely better to be back with family, to not have to constantly look over her shoulder. _Like you aren't doing that right now, Holmes? _Amelia finished off her coffee and fought the wave of irritation that rose when she remembered Mycroft admitting that he did not see the boss. She had nearly gotten killed for almost no extra information. All they knew now was that the boss was a female. Amelia thought idly about what kind of woman would be actively involved in the selling and trading of humans for slave work. From the baby-selling ring in the United States to the slaves in manufacturing plants in Thailand, there had to be some justification. Amelia did not subscribe to the notion that people were just evil and did bad things. A woman with substantial financial means and a sturdy position that granted her access and contacts would be operating under the belief that she was offering a benefit to society. Amelia thumped her fist on her forehead. _We already knew this about her. What are we missing? How do I know her? _Exhausted, Amelia peered at the rooftops just as the sun peeked out from a cloud.

And was reflected off the scope of a sniper's rifle.

Amelia was not surprised that she was facing some sort of retaliation for her role in the events that unraveled three nights ago. It was more interesting to note that it took as long as it did. _A sniper on a rooftop? Really? What ever happened to creativity with revenge tactics? _Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Amelia slowly moved her gaze across other rooftops to not alert the man with the rifle that he was made. She looked down at her plate and finished off the last bit of scone before picking up her dishes. As she made her way to the back, Amelia looked discretely out the other windows. Not seeing other gunmen, she tried to locate her barista. "Jane" she called out. "I need you to keep calm and listen to exactly what I say."

The plan that was quickly forming in her mind was dashed when she saw two men in suits standing in her kitchen and Jane on her knees between them. Though they did not look related, both were blonde with fair skin. One was short and squat while the other was almost comically lanky. Amelia glanced at the handgun in the short man's hand and the absence of one in the tall man on the left. She figured that the latter was the brains of the operation and fixed her attention on him. "You don't have to involve her, just let her go."

His thin lips spread into a smile. "I was under the impression that you started all of your hostile situations with a smart ass comment."

Amelia snorted. "You aren't worth it and I'm tired. I know why you are here and it does not involve my barista. She is already significantly underpaid. I don't want to deal with hospital bills and therapy appointments as well."

Shorty seemed like he could not take his eyes off of the petite redhead. Holding the gun in his right hand, he stroked her cheek with his left. "I'm sure I can find another use for her."

Jane did not even try to look scared though Amelia was sure she was resisting the urge to vomit. Wanting to take the attention off of her, Amelia laughed. "You sure you can find your prick under that gut?"

Scowling, the gunman shot death glares at Amelia. With both men's attention off of her, Jane slid her leg towards the wheeled mop bucket that she had been filling. Amelia waited until Jane's foot was in the correct position to take another step towards the odd couple. Sure enough, the short man swung his gun towards Amelia. Jane used the distraction to pull out the switchblade from her boot and rammed it into the gunman's hip. Standing suddenly, she moved to grab the gun out of his hands. The man was too busy crying out in pain that the firearm almost dropped out of his grasp. Jane kicked the mop bucket behind her, tripping the tall man and giving Amelia time to rush forward to tackle him to the ground. When he pulled out his gun, a revolver, Amelia grabbed his wrist and twisted. Jane hopped over and kicked the gun out of his hand. She moved back to the short man and held him down, gun to his head. "How does that feel now, asshole?" Jane snarled.

Not to be outdone, Amelia dragged the taller man to the large mixer that sat on the floor. In a stroke of luck, the pastry hook was still attached to the mechanism. She shoved his head in the bowl. "Who is your boss?" Amelia yelled with one hand on the power switch.

"Do you truly believe that I would part with information that easily? You are one stupid bitch." He shook with rage as Amelia slammed his head against the rim.

Amelia sighed. "Well, I already know that you are originally from Northern Spain and now that Dash is no longer holding your boss's attention, you are vying to be his replacement. You were hoping that you could serve my head on a platter for her and ensure your new pampered lifestyle. I know about the man on the roof across the street and the two thugs at my backdoor, which, if I am correct and I rarely am, my brother's employees have already arrived and rendered them useless. You have a driver on the side street, well, had. And you are currently waiting on your lab results from the doctor to make sure that the prostitute that you fucked last week did not leave you with any parting 'gifts.' Now, I will repeat my previous question, who are you working for?"

The man remained silent. "Alright, fine. If I can't get answers, I'll send another message."

Amelia turned on the mixer and watched as the newly activated pastry hook twisted and lodged itself in the skull of the attacker. Turning off the mixer, Amelia watched as the new corpse twitched once and slumped forward. Looking over at Jane, Amelia was impressed to see her employee calm as a cucumber with a gun in one hand and a fistful of hair in the other. Jane looked from her boss to the mixer. "I just cleaned that."

"Fine, if you clean it again, you can choose if we let this other moron live or add another body to the pile?"

Jane grinned and lifted up the man. "Come on you big fat fatty."

Amelia watched as Jane made her way to the industrial oven. She shot in front of the barista and opened the door. The two women hauled the screaming man up and into the oven. Jane slammed the door shut with a flourish. "Everyone deserves to die" she sang. "Even you Mrs. Lovett, even I!"

"Did you just kill a man and sing Sweeny Todd? What the hell, Jane?!" Amelia gaped at her.

"What? It was either him or me." Jane fluttered her eyelashes. "And I have too big of dreams to have my life end now."

"This goes beyond feeling like your life is in jeopardy. You should be showing some signs of traumatic stress. Unless…" Amelia groaned and put her hand up to her forehead. How did she not see this? "When did you serve?"

"Just out of school, I was just a wee lass. Thought I would serve Queen and country before going off to University. After, I decided against school and focused on living."

"Please don't tell me you work for Mycroft."

"Nah, I don't mind him, but if I worked for your brother, either of them, I would be committing homicide." Jane glanced at the oven. "Well, more homicide. Just planned happenstance, I suppose."

"Ah, just as well." Amelia pulled out her mobile and shot a text to Mycroft.

**I suppose you saw everything and acted accordingly?-AH**

**Of course I did. Do not go into your flat until the cleaners have left.-MH**

**Oh, hell. One got into my place? How bad?-AH**

**Apparently, he had a will to live. –MH**

**Thanks, bro. I owe you one.-AH**

Mycroft blinked in shock at Amelia's last text message. He felt a pang of regret knowing that all of his correspondences would have to be erased permanently. Anthea walked by and set down a screenshot of his recent conversation with his sister. "I cannot decide if I want to know how you do that or if it is better that I do not." Mycroft murmured.

"Whatever looks prettier in your diary, princess." Anthea quipped as she breezed out the door.

Mycroft decided that it was about time that Anthea saw another bump in her wages.


	13. Chapter 13

Amelia was about to tuck her mobile back into her pocket when another idea popped into her head.

**Hey Captain, want some company tonight?-AH**

His response arrived in less than two minutes.

**God yes, but what are we going to do about Sherlock? He's less than thrilled about our relationship.-JW**

**Who says he has to know?-AH**

**Wait, this is Sherlock, he probably already knows.-AH**

**He does. Apparently, I looked entirely too happy with your text. He is threatening to change the locks-JW**

**Amelia, sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Mrs. Hudson no longer feels safe with all the danger floating around. Your key no longer works and she is refusing to get a spare.-SH**

**Give me a few minutes, Captain. I'll fix this for us.-AH**

**Sherlock, if you don't back off I am stealing your skull and telling that new server at Angelo's that you are harboring an adorable but intense love for a person in an apron.-AH**

**Which new server? The male with the mutton chops or the woman with a few too many cats?-SH**

**Both.-AH**

**But my room is directly below his!-SH**

**I have some amazing sleeping pills…-AH**

**You have to do better than that.-SH**

**Fine, I'll talk Molly into letting you experiment on some unidentified corpses after hours.-AH**

**And?-SH**

**And I will bring over your favorite biscuits.-AH**

**I will consider your offer.-SH**

**What if this is arranged every time I have a date with John AND I promise to leave Skully alone?-AH**

**Is this a binding verbal contract and cannot be negotiated or adjusted at any time in the future?-SH**

**Indeed.-AH**

**Very well.-SH**

**Thank you.-AH**

**And don't think that either you or John can come to me with any tales of relationship woes or asking for advice.-SH**

**Why the hell would I talk to you about my relationship? And no offense, but you would be the last person I would seek relationship advice from.-AH**

**None taken. You aren't going to try to prostitute me out to the food service worker at Angelo's, are you?-SH**

**Not this week.-AH**

**Well, Sherlock muttered something about an experiment at St. Bart's tonight. I don't suppose you had a hand in this?-JW**

**Is this the secret talent you want to learn about today? You know I only dole one of those babies out a day ;)-AH**

**Nevermind. See you tonight, love.-JW**

Smirking, Amelia put her mobile away and let Mycroft's employees in through the backdoor. They took one look at the body in the mixer. Gus, Amelia's personal favorite, spoke up. "I was told there were two bodies."

Amelia merely pointed to the oven. Gus followed her hand and stared at the appliance before cackling. "I never pegged you for the burning sort, ma'am."

"Not me, my barista."

At Amelia's words, Gus swiveled his head towards the front of the bakery. Jane smiled sweetly and waved. Shaking his head, Gus closed the door that separated the dining area from the back, turned off the oven, and opened the door. They both regarded the charred remains of the gunman. "You know, I never got his name." Amelia muttered.

"Ma'am, I think you need to rethink your priorities. Now give us about an hour and you'll be all cleaned up." Gus folded his large arms over his chest and raised his rusty colored eyebrows at his boss's sister.

"Thanks, Gus." Amelia went to her office, deciding that now was the best time to work on her inventory.

"You might want to close the door, ma'am. My partner is a bit of a rookie and hasn't learned to contain his opinion." Gus called out.

"No worries, Gus. Let's not pretend that I am any sort of a lady." Amelia sat at her desk and waited to hear how the newbie reacted.

True to his word, Gus and his crew were finished before the lunch rush. Amelia and Jane kept busy, though they both were a little leery of entering the kitchen area. Amelia tried to keep an eye on her employee, looking for signs of trauma. There were none. Jane's position in the Queen's Army must have been intense enough for Jane to not even blink differently after having a gun to her head and killing a man. Either that or she was a remarkable actress. After Jane caught her staring for the third time, Amelia focused on the line of customers instead.

After lunch, Amelia helped Jane restock. Jane was quiet for a bit but after setting down a platter of chocolate strawberry fairy cakes, she spoke up. "I know you think it's unusual that I'm not reacting in the traditional way after what happened this morning."

"I don't think it is unusual. I was just wondering what you had to face in the Army that caused you to be so calm. If you hadn't noticed, I haven't panicked yet either." Amelia felt bad that Jane felt like she was being judged.

"That's fine. I was sure that you would do something like that. But I cannot tell you what I did. All you are allowed to know was that it was a highly classified position and the safety of my identity was never compromised." Jane took the tub of dirty dishes into the sink and began preparing the weekly order that Amelia would take with her.

"I understand. And it is relieving to know that you are fine. Trying to find a quality employee is more difficult than you can imagine." Amelia needed to do something with her hands, so she started the dish water.

"You might have to hire a part-time person, considering the business we had today. I have a couple of friends who are looking for a job and I can train them." Jane shooed Amelia away from the sink. "Molly will be here soon for your lunch with her. Finish the order and I will wash dishes."

Trading places, Amelia considered Jane's suggestion about another employee. She was pleasantly surprised that the bakery was going as well as it was, but was cautious about expanding too fast. As it was, the bakery closed once people had afternoon tea. Amelia was toying with the idea of having an online ordering process, which would build a catering facet to her business. "So tell me about your friends."

While Jane told Amelia about Sergio, the artist with bedroom eyes and is handy with an espresso machine and Mauve, the student at Uni who is looking for some extra cash and experience with small businesses. "Is she looking to open her own?" Amelia asked.

"Nah, she wants to be a barrister and specialize in small business contracts while connecting owners in hopes that they can help each other out."

"So introducing a small grocer to a catering company?" Amelia moved to the oven to take out the collection of biscuits and tarts that would go with her this afternoon.

"Exactly." Jane jerked her head towards the front door. "And as always, Molly is exactly on time."

"Hey Molly, back here!" Amelia called out.

Molly popped her head in the back. "Sorry, I just have to stick these in their boxes and we can go." Amelia explained.

"No problem. Today has been a little slow so I don't have to worry about getting back to the morgue before 3 o'clock." Molly walked to Amelia's office, took her chair, and rolled it to the doorway. She sat comfortably.

"Speaking of the morgue. I don't suppose you have some unidentified and unclaimed bodies lying around?"

"Well, they wouldn't be standing." Molly raised an eyebrow at Amelia.

"I do enjoy your gallows humor, dear friend. Sherlock is looking to do some work, after hours, of course. He was hoping that you had a fresh supply of bodies." Amelia tried to appear nonchalant.

Molly saw through Amelia right away. "If Sherlock was so curious, he would just show up. So is this a request from him or from you?"

Amelia made an exasperated noise. "Fine. I want him out of the flat for the night and this was the only way he would go willingly."

"Is that why you made extra biscuits?" Jane winked at Molly, who politely hid her giggle behind her hand.

Amelia did not take the bait. Instead, she focused on closing the last box. "There! Now we can go."

Molly stood and kicked the chair back into the office. "And yes, there are some bodies that Sherlock can experiment on. Greg has been sending more of them over than usual."

As they walked outside, Amelia could not help but scan the rooftops to make sure there were no extra eyes fixed on them. No one. Molly filled Amelia in on the latest romantic adventures of Molstrade, as Amelia liked to call them. Amelia made the appropriate noises of approval as Molly described the small bed and breakfast they stayed at while on holiday two weeks ago. "And then the other night, he cooked the same rosemary chicken dish that we had there." Molly gushed as they walked into Evie's Sandwich Shop.

"That sounds like it was amazing. Lestrade sure likes to spoil you rotten." Amelia said as she waved at Hugh, the shop owner.

As they went up to order, Amelia handed over the baked goods that would accompany Hugh's collection of sandwiches and salads that made up the weekly order for some rich politician's team. Amelia preferred not to be involved in any way with politicians, but they did tip well. But mostly, Amelia wanted to help Hugh out. Recently widowed, the 60-year old was trying to keep his shop open so he could build a trust for his grandchildren. The man was roughly 6'1" and was almost completely round. Amelia thought he made the perfect grandfather. He fussed like a mother and told dirty jokes just to see Molly blush. Once they say down, Molly peered at Amelia. "And when were you going to tell me about John?"

"Well if you gave me a second." Amelia pouted and picked up her water.

"A second? I've been waiting almost a week." Molly was not done in.

"I should know better than trying to elicit sympathy from you. After all, you have been duped countless times by Sherlock."

"Stop changing the topic. When, where, why, and how was it?" Molly leaned forward.

"When we were in Tokyo, the hotel, well, actually a dark alley first, it was inevitable, and mindblowing." Amelia ticked off her answers on her fingers. "Anything else?"

"How did your brothers take the news?" Amelia just looked at Molly, who laughed. "As well as to be expected, I suppose. They'll come around."

"Really? Nothing on the dark alley comment? I must be losing my touch." Amelia thanked the young man who dropped off their lunches before looking at Molly again.

The pathologist's face was slowly turning red. Amelia looked for Hugh, thinking that he said something that embarrassed her. But Hugh was behind the counter, loudly greeting his daughter-in-law. She looked back before she realized why Molly was blushing. "Oh my god! You and Lestrade in an alley?"

"Shut up, people can hear you." Molly's face was scarlet.

"I bet they could hear you then too!" Amelia practically screamed with laughter. "You are such a badass!"

Molly couldn't help herself. She flicked a tomato at Amelia, which landed in her hair. Both women doubled over, laughing hysterically. Amelia was the first to get relatively composed. "But seriously, Molly, how did you work out the logistics of that?"

Molly speared a cucumber with her fork. "I will tell you, but first you need to spill. You and John. Now."

"I already answered you!" Amelia defended.

"You gave me extremely succinct answers, yes. But how are you feeling about this? You start falling for a man, almost against your will, just to find out that he has another girlfriend, who he later married, who later _dies,_ and now you two are together after a year of battling your emotions." Molly waited patiently as Amelia struggled to answer her.

"It's terrifying. I am so bloody scared of fucking this all up." Amelia groaned into her water.

"Because it has been so dramatic?"

"No." Molly looked surprised. Amelia expanded. "Now it's just easy. We can just be together and I know that it is genuine. There is no internal danger, no secrecy, nothing."

"How is that terrifying?"

A rather well-dressed man walked into the small café just then. He looked oddly familiar, but Amelia could not place where. Keeping an eye on him, Amelia replied to Molly's question. "Because there are no defenses. Any sense of dishonesty and I would be prepared for the worst. But I can feel myself relaxing with him."

Molly was not convinced, but she understood. "It takes a lot of trust to just be yourself, doesn't it, Amelia? But I think you found the perfect person to lose yourself in."

"Lose myself? Lay off the Harlequin novels, Molly." Amelia briefly took her eyes off the man in the suit to glance at her friend.

"I'm serious. That is what you are scared of. You don't want John to hurt you so you are tempted to keep your distance." Molly knew that even though Amelia's eyes were elsewhere, she was absorbing her words.

"So what do you suggest I do, oh romantically wise one?" _He's picking up the order. Clearly, he works for that politician. Why is he looking around like that?_

Amelia's attention was forced back to her friend. It took her a moment to realize that Molly was snapping in front of her face. "Hello? Did you hear what I said?"

"Sorry, I guess I spaced out."

Molly studied Amelia. "That is really unlike you. What are you looking at?"

"Man in the suit. He's here to pick up the order for that politician, but he looks really paranoid. Plus, I swear I've seen him somewhere else." Amelia pursed her lips, concentrating for a moment before giving up. "It'll come to me. What were you saying?"

"Perhaps you should just stop thinking about how things could potentially go wrong. If I sat and thought about everything that could happen to me, I would never leave my flat. Just enjoy the man, yeah?"

"Easier said than done."

Molly smiled. "It always is."

Amelia watched as the suited man gathered up the large order. As he turned to leave, he locked eyes with Amelia. The man paled slightly and blinked several times. _He knows me._ Keeping her face neutral, Amelia scanned the cafe as he walked out the door. Looking back at him, Amelia noticed that he almost unconsciously shrugged his left shoulder as if something heavy had been resting on it. _Left shoulder. _Amelia's blood ran cold. The sniper from this morning was left handed, which would have meant that his rifle was resting on his left shoulder when he was taking aim. Amelia closed her eyes and tried to remember the identifying marks on the man she saw that morning. Instantly, a visual of a shortened right ring finger emerged. Amelia's eyes popped open and she surveyed the man, who was now making a hasty exit. Because of the boxes of food, he could not hide his right hand. _Shortened ring finger. _

Waiting until the man was out of sight, Amelia stood and walked back to the counter. Hugh greeted her with a confused smile. "Hugh, what is that politician's name that requests that weekly order?"

"Um, Edwin Cooper, that Parliament member, but he isn't the one who orders from us. He just pays for it."

"Then who is it for?"

"His wife, Anne."


	14. Chapter 14

Amelia swallowed hard. "His wife?"

"Ya. Apparently, she works with a load of charities. Once a week, they gather and get updated, usual ass-kissing kind of affair. But this time might be a little different." Hugh managed to continue talking as he cleaned and checked his supplies.

"What do you mean?" Fighting the urge to hyperventilate, Amelia took deep breaths and felt her heart rate slow down. Soon, all of the ambient noises began to dull and the light began to dim.

"You haven't heard? The location that ran most of her business burned down. Everything that each charity needed to function was incinerated, donor files, all the bookkeeping, you name it. Its ash." Hugh shook his head. "The police suspect arson, but there isn't much evidence. I don't understand people these days if destroying the headquarters for some of the largest charities in London is justifiable."

Amelia's brain started whirling with facts and observations. All the noise that surrounded her was muffled to a small buzz. Though she could not remember how, Amelia managed to finish her conversation with Hugh and walk back to the table. Molly took one look and ushered her out the door. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Amelia heard a conversation that Molly was holding. "I don't know what is going on. She's completely out of it." Molly was silent for a moment. "She's muttering about paper trails and it's like she is searching for something, but I doubt if she can see." More silence. "Right, I will let Jane know and bring her to you."

Amelia was confused. What was Molly talking about? Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a mobile. _Molly must have called someone, most likely Sherlock. _With all of the information rushing through her brain and all of her energy spent trying to sort it, Amelia let Molly lead her into a cab. All sorts of sensory information seeped into her mind, adding to the clutter. Amelia let out a squeak and buried her head in her arms. Molly rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. Mercifully, the cab ride was short and Molly helped Amelia up the stairs to 221B and sat her on the couch. Sherlock emerged from the kitchen with a cup of tea. "I can imagine how startling it is to see Amelia like this."

Molly mindlessly accepted the tea, her eyes never leaving Amelia. She sipped at the cup as she watched her friend rock back and forth, brow furrowed, with nearly silent words pouring out of her mouth. Molly looked at the cup. "Sherlock, this is ice cold."

"Of course it is, John made it for me before he left for the clinic this morning." Sherlock murmured.

Molly sighed and put the cup into the sink. She figured she did all she could at this point. If she were to stay, she would just fret and worry at the sight of Amelia losing touch with reality. "I should go. I wish I knew what caused this."

Sherlock saw the concern in the pathologist's eyes. "It's perfectly alright, Molly. Amelia probably stumbled upon an important detail for on a case that we are working on. Now she's putting everything together. Give her a few more minutes, she'll snap out of it with a crystal clear picture."

"Is that what it is like for you?"

Nodding, Sherlock twisted the corners of his mouth upward for a moment. "Almost, but Amelia also factors in emotions, so it is probably more intense for her."

Molly could not tell if the information was comforting or more terrifying than what she imagined. "I assume the bigger the case, the more details, which makes it worse?" At Sherlock's continued nod, Molly inquired. "Just how large is this case?"

"Huge and with many implications towards many important citizens; now, you should probably go. Lestrade is wondering where you are and I can't be bothered to try to sort everything out over the sound of your worrying." Sherlock heard Molly gather her items and turned to her before she walked out the door. "Thank you, Molly. It is reassuring to know that Amelia has friends who will take care of her."

Molly blushed lightly, knowing how difficult it would have been for Sherlock to say that. "It is equally reassuring to know that she has a brother who cares as much as you do."

Sherlock was still. Molly was unsure if he had heard what she said, but did not feel it was appropriate to repeat herself. After she left, Sherlock sat at his chair and studied his sister. "You figured it all out, didn't you? Take your time, I'll be here." He settled in for a long wait.

About an hour later, Amelia's muttering slowed as did her breath. Sherlock looked up from John's laptop and gestured to John, who had arrived only twenty minutes before. Amelia's eyes fluttered open and she looked startled at her surroundings. She gazed at Sherlock and John for a moment. Then she jumped in surprise. "Oh! I suppose you both want to hear what I came up with."

"If it isn't too much of a difficulty for you." Sherlock replied dryly.

"You do realize that I can still hear and see everything that happens around me when I get like this, right?" Amelia smirked at Sherlock's discomfort. "Annie Cooper is our boss."

She felt a weight wrap around her shoulders. Looking up, Amelia saw that John draped a blanket over her. "Sorry, you looked cold." John smiled and sat next to her.

"Thanks. But back to what I was saying. Annie Cooper is the wife of…"

"Edwin Cooper, Parliament member, who is known for his and Annie's contributions to various charities that include environmental work, refugee assistance, and animal protection." Sherlock finished for her.

"That would be him. Annie runs an organization, Building Bridges, which brings all of these charities together. While she isn't technically the head of all of it, she has her hands on a lot of information, including who the donors are, how much they give, and whatnot. Since she is living in the public eye with her husband, she has to pretend that she wants nothing to do with opulence, which is about as much of a lie as Edwin's actual interest in charity work. But, with all of her monetary needs being facilitated by her husband, she needed a way to afford her excessive lifestyle and hide it from her husband. So she created Building Bridges and ran it out of her old family home. Since Edwin had no interest in what she is doing, he turns a tactful blind eye. She uses the contacts that she makes to start up her side business, which is supplying these influential folks with extra help. I do not know if they are aware that these people are working for them unwillingly, I assume so." Amelia paused to gauge the men's reactions.

John looked confused and Sherlock appeared skeptical still. "That explains a great deal, but how did she make contacts with the human trafficking trade?"

"This is where it gets tricky. There is a chunk of Annie's history that no one really knows about. After she graduated from University, she claims that she traveled with UNICEF, but they have no record of her actually working with them. Some of her old friends from school mentioned that she had a boyfriend who they thought was just using her. They also swore that he was involved with drug dealing and bragged about being a pimp. My thoughts are that she went with him and even after they broke up, she kept in touch with his friends. If we dig deep enough, we'll find connections to Channarong, Montase, Gonzalez, McCarthy, and Janashah."

John still did not appear to be convinced. "That seems like a lot that we are assuming. How did you know about what her old friends were saying?"

Amelia shrugged. "One of them likes to come by the bakery. Apparently, her glory days were back in Uni and she just loves to gossip about her good friend, Annie. Not to me, of course, but I can't help it if she practically shouts into her mobile."

"And how did this all come about?"

_Oh, shit._ "Well, there was a bit of an incident this morning. Mostly payback from Mycroft's little flaming gift."

Sherlock's voice went cold as John looked in shock. "What sort of incident are we talking about?"

"Man with a rifle on a roof and a few thugs in my bakery. Mycroft helped with that, though, as did Jane. Speaking of, did you know that Jane is all sorts of a badass?"

"Amelia, do not change the topic. And yes, I did know of Jane's military background, I thought that was why you hired her. Why didn't you say anything sooner about this morning?" Sherlock responded, sounding deceptively bored.

"Because I knew this was coming and I didn't want to run to you two straight away just in case they were still watching me. If you guys were in the dark, then they wouldn't think you were involved. I can't solve this if I constantly have to worry that I am placing you both in danger." Amelia did not miss the pointed exchange between her brother and new boyfriend. "What?"

John ran his hand through Amelia's hair and ignored Sherlock's eye roll. "You have no idea how alike you and Sherlock are."

"No, we're not." Amelia and Sherlock protested in unison.

Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing, John continued. "Can you just let us know whenever your life is being threatened? It does ruin my day a bit when I walk in to you lying unconscious or newly escaped from harm."

Amelia smiled back at John. Sherlock made an annoyed groan. "How adorable, can we please get back to our original point?"

Without looking over at her petulant older brother, Amelia continued her story. "Calm down, after said incident and the following clean-up, it was back to business as usual. As it was Thursday, I met Molly for lunch at Evie's and brought Hugh my contribution for the weekly order for Annie Cooper. I recognized the man who picked up the order as the man who was on the roof staring at me through the scope of a rifle this morning. He recognized me, but he did not realize that I know who he was."

John had been listening carefully to Amelia's story, trying to figure out what their next move should be. "This is good, now you have an advantage. You could add ground glass to her pastry for next week, or something similar."

Amelia shook her head. "Contrary to popular belief, ground glass actually can't kill you. The pieces would need to be large enough that she would easily be able to feel the difference. Plus, I have no idea what she actually eats out of that order and the chance for casualties are too great. I'll think of another option, but we do need to inform Mycroft of the recent developments."

Sherlock stood up, walked to his jacket, and stuffed his arms through it. "Can we possibly do that tomorrow? I have bodies to experiment on."

At Amelia's nod, he bid them a quick farewell. John and Amelia waited until they heard Sherlock slam the front door before practically jumping into each other's arms.


	15. Chapter 15

Much later in the evening, Amelia and John laid in John's bed, limbs entangled and gasping for breath. "Where the hell did you learn that thing with your hips?" John inquired.

Amelia stretched, feeling very much like a content kitten. "You'd be surprised how beneficial belly dancing lessons are." At John's questioning look, Amelia ran her fingers through her hair and thought back. "That was in Salt Lake City, actually. I needed a special skill to get the attention of a target."

"That was when you were acting as a prostitute?" John used Amelia's stretch to drag his fingers across her stomach.

"Yeah, there were some other skills that I had to master, but I couldn't use them as initial impressions. Does this bother you?" Amelia cursed herself mentally. She didn't think that John would be entirely comfortable with hearing about the less glamorous side of assassinations.

John pondered her question as he slid his hand under Amelia's thigh. "I thought it would, but astoundingly, I'm alright with it. I mean, if you just came from selling yourself on Picadilly, I might be a bit put out."

"Well, that's relieving. Though I might have to find a new weekend gig now." Amelia let out a squeal as John lifted her leg and bit her upper leg. Moving her leg to the side, John slid between her knees. "Wait, I'm starving. You promised me takeaway!"

"I'm more interested in feasting on you for a bit more." John chuckled and dipped his head down.

Amelia rolled her head back just as her mobile rang. She knew from the ringtone that Shay was trying to get in touch. She lifted her head back up. "I gotta get that."

John groaned. "You've got to be kidding me."

"It's Shay. She never calls unless there is something wrong." Amelia grabbed the phone, pressed the green button, and braced herself for the worst. "Hullo, Shay."

"Where the hell are you? First you send me some cryptic text, telling me to not return home until 8pm at the earliest. Then _Mycroft_ sends me another text, offering to pay for damages that were inflicted on my property. Now, I am standing in the middle of the apartment, which has never been cleaner, not that I'm complaining. What the fuck happened?" Shay was practically screaming over the phone. Amelia could literally hear her pacing the floor.

John popped his head back up and watched in amusement as Amelia winced and held the phone away from her ear. He reached for the mobile. "Hi Shay, it's John. I'm afraid there were some complications to a case and Amelia needs to stay here tonight." He smiled, thinking that he could charm Shay into placidity and keep Amelia at his for the night.

He could not have been more wrong. "John, I swear to god if you don't pack Amelia up and send her back to our place, I am grabbing her myself and kicking you square in the nuts. Send. Her. Home. Now." Shay spoke through gritted teeth before hanging up.

John handed the phone back. "Yeah, she's on quite the rampage."

He rolled off the bed and began to dress. Amelia followed suit, but raised her eyebrow when she noticed that John was putting on shoes as well. "What are you doing?"

Shrugging, John replied "I'm not going to let you deal with this on your own."

Amelia was not easily persuaded. "And what is the real reason?"

"Fine, a couple days before we went to Tokyo, Shay cornered me at the clinic. Apparently, she was getting a little impatient waiting for me to make a move." John was unsure of how Amelia would react to her friend's involvement. "Basically, she was the one who told me that all the talking we were doing was actually forcing you to overthink."

John braved a glance at Amelia. She sat perfectly still against his headboard and was looking into the distance. Then her mouth quivered. Before John realized what happened, Amelia bent over and began roaring with laughter. Somehow, in the process, she managed to lie on her side and started to slap the mattress with an open palm. "Oh god, that is so like her."

Amelia sat up and began to get dressed, still laughing a bit. "So you want to come with because you think I won't say anything?"

"Actually, I was hoping that you and I could go out after we calm Shay down."

With a shoe frozen in her hand, Amelia looked over at John. "Like a date?"

"Yeah, our first, if we don't count ordering room service and watching movies. I prefer mine to be a little more romantic than watching people get disemboweled." John smiled hopefully.

Amelia surveyed her outfit, still in her barista-friendly black trousers and white top. Here was John Watson suggesting an evening while Amelia still had her hair in a ponytail and smelled like sweat and biscuits. While Amelia never gave two thoughts about what others thought about her appearance, she did like to dress up a bit when going out. If she thought more about it, she would probably admit that wearing nicer clothing and a face full of makeup was the best way to go undetected around the rich. It also threw potential enemies off, thinking that she was less capable and strong as she was. The thoughts comforted her more than the idea that enhancing her looks would attract the right kind of man, even though John did not seem to care what she was wearing. So knowing this, Amelia knew that John would not get the wrong impression when she said. "Good thing we're going back to the flat then. I'll need to get ready and it sounds like you can use that time alone with Shay to go over your next steps." Amelia winked at John before walking out the door.

John watched her walk out. She always had to have the last word and leave him with a slight feeling of trepidation. However, he could not bring himself to ever feel annoyed. With an amused look on his face, John followed Amelia out.

Once they arrived at the flat, Shay was sitting on the couch with a tumbler of whiskey cradled between her hands. Amelia studied her pale face and the slight tremor in her hands as she lifted the glass to her lips and sipped. She placed her hand on John's arm. "Why don't you go into my room for a bit?"

John did not ask any questions. Amelia knew he had seen the fear in Shay's eyes as well. He walked into the bedroom and closed the door. Amelia sat at the other end of the couch and curled her legs up under her. "When was Mycroft here and what did he tell you?"

Shay did not pretend to be surprised that Amelia figured it out. "He left about 5 minutes ago, but he didn't say what was happening, just that you were in danger and it would be best if I visited my mother for the next two weeks." Her gaze fell to the airline ticket on the coffee table.

The room began to have a red tint to it. Amelia could feel her anger starting to get the best of her. _How dare you, Mycroft. _She leaned over and took the whiskey out of Shay's hands, taking a sip before putting it down. "Shay, I am so sorry that I didn't tell you first. I never realized how big this whole case was until this afternoon, but that doesn't excuse the fact that I left you in the dark."

She heard Shay take a steadying breath. "Amelia, this goes beyond just letting me know as a friend. We're roommates. Yes, you told me to work late this evening, but you never said it was because Mycroft's men had to clean the blood out of the floorboards. What would have happened if I had decided to work from home today? I didn't have any clients past 9 this morning."

Amelia felt like sobbing. If anything had happened to Shay, she would have never forgiven herself. Before she could respond, Shay continued. "I have accepted you, the entire you, the parts of yourself that even you try not to think about. I did this because I am not naïve. I know that there needs to be morally ambiguous assassins, like you, to help the world turn. But I never thought that you would be so reckless as to put me in danger. I'm not asking for much, just tell me when I should be acting more carefully."

"Ok, now if you don't mind me, I think I'll go hang myself in the shower for a bit." Amelia quipped.

Shay's arm shot out and grabbed Amelia's wrist. "Don't you dare make a joke like that" she snapped.

"What am I supposed to say, Shay? You're right. I was so wrapped up in finding this person that I left you in danger. You could have been killed or abducted and used as bait. I know what this person is capable of and I did not stop once to think about your safety. God, how could I have acted so stupidly?" Amelia felt the tears welling up in her eyes and fought the urge to sob.

Shay handed the glass of whiskey back to Amelia. She drank from it deeply. Shay watched as Amelia composed herself. "Thank you. Now that you understand the gravity of the situation, can we plan what will happen next time? And I'm sure there will be a next time."

At times like this, Amelia was forever grateful that Shay was a therapist. It was comforting to know that even if Amelia did something horrible, Shay always acted with the mentality of "hate the behavior, not the person." She thought for a moment. "I would say that sending you to your mother's would suffice, but I know how you get when you spend too much time with the woman."

"Indeed, I love my mother, but I cannot stand how she idly stands by as my father acts like such a misogynist. And if I spend more than a few days at a time, I know I won't be able to bite my tongue around him. What about Mycroft?"

Amelia was confused. "What _about_ Mycroft?"

Shay pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. As she opened her mouth, John poked his head out from the door. "Is it safe to come out now?"

Both women nodded impatiently. John sat at the kitchen table and tried to look like he belonged. Shay noticed that he kept glancing at the whiskey, so she stood up and walked to the kitchen. "You really need to start accepting that your family is around to help you." Shay poured John about two fingers of Tyrconnel and handed it to him. "I'm sure Mycroft has a plan to keep the people he knows about safe. He actually mentioned it. Well, he said that he was working on too short of notice to execute his usual protection. The plane tickets were a back-up. I assume that you told him about my home life?"

Amelia shook her head. "I haven't, but Mycroft has a habit of researching every person who is involved with his family. And when did you become such a fan of my eldest brother?" She then narrowed her eyes at the half-full tumbler. "Shay, where did you get that whiskey?"

Shay opened her mouth to respond before closing it. When she repeated that action twice more, Amelia connected the dots. "Mycroft has been sucking up to you."

Rolling her eyes, Shay responded. "He hasn't been sucking up to me. Mycroft brought that over since he assumed that I would be upset once we finished speaking."

"But Mycroft never takes others' emotions into consideration unless he actually is fond of them." Amelia continued to watch Shay.

Shay merely brushed off Amelia's words. "You should really give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps Mycroft knows how upset you would be if anything happened to me and worked to help you without you knowing. He really is not that bad."

When Amelia did not respond, John looked up from his glass. She was staring intently at Shay. John followed her gaze. Shay was sitting calmly now, but it looked like she was thinking about something else entirely. Amelia noticed this as well as the slight blush growing on her face, starting at her ears and working itself forward. She knew what this meant for Shay and knew that now was not the time to be concerned with it. Choosing to focus on Shay's safety, she merely asked. "What time is your flight?"

"Soon, actually. There is a cab coming to pick me up in about…" Shay checked her watch. "ten minutes."

"Are you sure you don't want us to take you?" Amelia offered.

Shay gave her a look that read 'do I look like an idiot?' "In what car, Amelia?"

"Alright, fine, I just wanted to make sure there were no extra bodies in the cab. But I can tell when I am not wanted." A small ring sounded from Shay's mobile. "Since when do cabs text when they arrive?"

Amelia thought about walking to the window to see if a black sedan was idling at the curb instead of a cabbie, but decided against it. _Not going there. Not yet._ Instead, Amelia helped Shay with her luggage and hugged her goodbye. "We're still not done with this conversation, you know." Shay muttered into her friend's hair.

"I know, but we will have it when you are home and safe." Amelia gave her an extra squeeze before letting go.

Shay waved to John, slightly disappointed that they never got around to discussing the recent changes between John and Amelia. She knew that she could ponder on it while avoiding her parent's most recent fight about Dad's new girlfriend's expensive tastes. Amelia and John watched as Shay walked out the door. "I hope you don't mind, but I did make reservations. Did you still want to go? I can cancel if you don't."

Amelia smiled at John. "Absolutely, just let me get ready."

John waited until Amelia gathered her clothing and walked into the bathroom. He listened for the telltale sounds of the water running and the shower curtain being pulled back. Once he was certain that Amelia was in the shower, he got up and walked in. John quickly disrobed and snuck into the tub behind Amelia. As he wrapped his arms around her waist, ignoring her surprised yelp, and whispered in her ear "Did I forget to mention that we don't have to be there for another two and a half hours?"

He cut off Amelia's delighted laugh with a deep kiss.


	16. Chapter 16

It wasn't until all the hot water ran out before Amelia and John emerged from the shower. Amelia kicked John out of the bathroom and quickly got ready. She applied a little makeup, some loose powder, eye shadow, and mascara. Amelia looked at her choice of bottoms: a tight lacy skirt or practical black wool trousers. Sighing, Amelia put on a pair of black wool trousers. The skirt would have to wait until she could be sure that she would not have to get into a fight with a politician's wife or anyone she might employ. Next, Amelia threw on a light purple top with a black jacket over it. A necklace with about a dozen chains and two thick rings completed the look. Amelia separated her hair into three plaits and then twisted each one, securing them to the back of her head with bobby pins.

Checking her watch, she was pleased to note that it only took her 15 minutes to get ready. She breezed out of the bathroom and picked up her heavy boots. Her trousers would be long enough to hide her shoes, which when she kicked in them, it packed a heavier hit. Amelia then noticed that John was not in the sitting room. She walked into her bedroom and saw John sitting on her bed, holding a framed picture of herself and her mother. It was taken when she was only 14, Amelia stood with her arms over her chest and an annoyed, yet satisfied look on her face. Her mother was standing next to Amelia with her head back, laughing. Walking up next to him, she plucked the frame out of his hand and put it back on her nightstand. Out of the twenty or so pictures, it was the only one that suggested Amelia had parents. John watched her, a softly curious look on his face. "I thought you didn't have much of a relationship with your parents."

Amelia stood, her back to John and her eyes on the photo. "I didn't. This was actually the only time Mother paid any sort of attention to me. I had just gotten kicked out of school, I can't even remember which one it was that time, for fighting. Mother came downstairs to inform me that I would need to pack for the next one straight away and out of curiosity, she asked why I had gotten into a fight."

"What did you say?"

"That I had been fighting with the school bully. He was acting like a moron, as his usual, and I verbally berated him. He punched me in the stomach and said 'sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt.' So I picked up a nearby book, I believe it was a dictionary, and threw it at his face. It broke his nose and knocked out two teeth." Amelia smiled at the memory of Ethan Stone's bewildered face.

John could picture a small version of Amelia standing there, hands on her hips, proudly as a larger boy curled up on the ground. "And your mother approved of that?"

"She tried to show disdain and skepticism in hopes that I would demonstrate remorse. But that never happened. Instead, I stood by what I did. Eventually, she stopped lecturing and started laughing. She said that if I held onto my own set of morals when I became an adult as hard as I was at that moment, I would never have any existential issues. Mycroft happened to have his camera and took the picture. I think he wanted to show me that my mother did, deep down, care."

"Parents are tricky like that. They just can't help themselves from loving their children, even if it is just a little bit."

Amelia tried to shake out the memory as she turned to John. "I know. But I think we should head out if we still want to make those reservations. Where are we going anyway?"

John draped Amelia's jacket over her shoulders and wrapped an arm around her waist. "That's the thing. I got the reservation and I know where we need to go, but the place does not have a name."

Amelia had heard of this new phenomenon, she dubbed it Mystery Eats. It was an extension of pop-up restaurants, where people were setting up last minute restaurants in temporary settings. Mystery eats were set up and the chefs let a small number of people know about it. Those people in the know could only spread the word to two other people. This created a unique and intimate dining experience. "So who told you about it?"

As they walked out of the flat and down the stairs, John explained. "Actually, Molly did. Lestrade's friend from Uni is the chef. Think you'd be up for a double date?"

Instead of hailing a cab, the couple started walking down the street. Amelia recalled some extra traffic going just to the east of her flat within the last day or so. She was impressed that they could set up a restaurant so quickly when it took her the better part of a year to get her bakery up and running. _I wonder if the chef would have some time to give me advice. _"I haven't been on one of those since I was in school."

"They really haven't changed much since then. I assume you and Molly would sneak off once in a while to gossip about what Greg and I are doing, especially since this is the first time we are going out as a couple." Once John said those words, a slight knot of fear settled in his stomach.

Amelia could sense the nerves settle over John. "Please, Molly and I do not gossip. If there is anything to be said, it will be done in front of you. Besides, Molly loves you and was actually the one who was advocating for you the loudest."

John tightened his grip. "That helps, thanks."

Because she could, Amelia leaned over and pressed a kiss to John's lips. "Stop overthinking" she teased.

As she pulled away, John moved his head towards hers, unwilling to let the kiss end. "I do love you. You know that, right?"

Amelia smiled. "I'm beginning to keep that in mind."

They walked another block before arriving to what once was an empty parking lot. There were two large pavilion type tents set up in case of any weather changes. The temporary kitchen was in the back, pumping out mouthwatering smells. Under the front tent, there were about 12 small tables set up. A hostess stood at the front and directed the small crowd to their assigned table. John and Amelia spotted Molly and Lestrade almost immediately. They joined them in line, though Amelia could hear someone muttering behind them about cutting in line. Normally, she would have snapped back at the woman, but Amelia figured she would figure out they were all together soon enough and kept her mouth shut. Molly took in Amelia's outfit, recognizing instantly that Amelia dressed for practicality this evening. However, she chose not to comment on it.

Amelia tried to enjoy the evening. The food was lovely, the company was great. She was happy to spend time with Molly and Lestrade, seeing them as a functioning couple warmed her heart slightly. It was a perfectly fine evening.

If only Amelia would stop from feeling paranoid.

Throughout the evening, she kept glancing at the open sides of the tent. Amelia was completely sure that at any moment, Cooper's minions would come stomping in with guns blazing. She was even halfway convinced that the whole restaurant was a ruse and her dinner would be laced with poison. _Is this why Sherlock always refuses food and sleep on a case? _To keep her friends from worrying, Amelia kept up appearances, laughing and talking with them. Shortly after they received their meals, John leaned over to Amelia. "Stop feeling bad about being on edge. After what happened with Shay, I would be more concerned if you did not have hesitations about this evening."

He squeezed her knee. "You still have to live, Amelia. If you don't, they will always win."

With those words, they both resumed the conversation that Molly and Lestrade were having about the ending of Dark Knight Rises. Molly and John were convinced that Batman survived the plane crash, but Lestrade and Amelia were skeptical. "Then why did Alfred see Bruce in Italy with Selena?" asked Molly.

Lestrade groaned and Amelia rolled her eyes at the two. "Because it was his fantasy. Earlier in the film, Alfred told Bruce that he would daydream of the time when he would be on vacation and see Bruce with his family, relaxing, and not needing to be Batman. Throughout the whole damn trilogy, Alfred was warning Bruce about committing his life to being the caped crusader and worried that he would die as Batman instead of Bruce. The last scene was Alfred trying to convince himself that Bruce did not sacrifice his life, that he learned how to stop being Batman and start being a man."

John still was holding out, while Molly started to look depressed. "Why would he need to do that though?"

Lestrade jumped in. "Because Alfred used to be like Bruce Wayne, he was committed to his special ops and pushed aside any ideas of a family or a normal life. But then he got too old and had nothing to show for it. Alfred wanted Bruce to have a normal life because he didn't want Bruce to be like him."

Molly took a sip of her wine. "But that is so depressing."

Amelia put her hand on top of Molly's, consoling her. "Oh, sweetie, sorry to kill your dreams, but that was the theme of the whole trilogy. Nothing has a happy ending and nothing truly ends until you die."

All four of them were quiet for a moment. Then Molly piped in "If only I could wear that red lipstick like Selena does."

Everyone laughed and changed the topic to the newest insult Sherlock hurled at Anderson. Amelia was happy to chat with John and her friends, but she still had an icy feeling in the back of her mind. As they finished dinner and debated dessert, Amelia tried to locate the reason for the feeling. She was a firm believer in the concept that the mind takes in more information than what people consciously know. There could be a small detail that she picked up at any point that evening that was leaving her uneasy. Molly, Lestrade, and John decided against dessert, each of them looking eager to part ways. Amelia readily agreed, but for a much different reason than the other three.

As Amelia and John walked back to the flat, Amelia tried to recall the moment that she began to feel on edge. If John noticed Amelia's silence, he did not comment on it. They reached the sidewalk. _Not here. _Crossing the street. _Not here either. _Passing an alley. _Getting close. _Another street crossed and five feet onto the next block. _Here. _Amelia thought back to earlier in the evening. It was right when Amelia and John kissed. Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia spotted a man starting to cross the street, hand outstretched like he was trying to wave at him. _Charlie, the homeless man that I send extra food with. _He must have been trying to get Amelia's attention before someone else had stepped up, grabbed him by the arm, and led him away.

"Amelia? We're here." Amelia opened her eyes, not realizing when she had closed them, and saw John looking at her with concern. "Where did you go just then?"

She shook her head. "Best that you don't know."

John looked unsure, but accepted her answer. He tried to walk with her up to her flat. Amelia gently removed his arm from around her. "You know, I think I need to be alone tonight." Her voice was high and thin sounding.

"Amelia…"

"It's ok, John. There is just too much happening for me to be good company tonight. I'll call you in the morning."

John looked like he wanted to argue so Amelia kissed him. When she pulled away, he looked like he wanted to cry. "Amelia, please."

She put her hand to his mouth. "I love you."

Then she ran through the door and up to her flat. Amelia put down her purse, leaving her mobile in her pocket. She then rested her arms at her sides and let the man who was hiding in her bedroom emerge, pressing a cloth to her face. As Amelia lost consciousness, her last thought was of John. She was so glad that her parting words to him were finally telling him that she loved him.


	17. Chapter 17

Standing at the sidewalk, John did not hesitate. He quickly hailed a cab and once inside, he dialed Mycroft. Mycroft picked up after the first ring. "It's me. Someone is in the flat with Amelia."

Mycroft did not have to ask for clarification. "Her GPS is on and moving. She remembered to keep it on her person. Anthea has been alerted of her role and is about to start."

John hung up the phone and immediately texted Sherlock.

**It's happened.-JW**

He received an instant response.

**Come back to the flat. Mycroft has just arrived.-SH**

John's instructions ended at that point. The only thing he could do was to sit back in the backseat and will the cabbie to drive faster. He thought about the events of three nights ago, shortly after he finished patching Mycroft up.

As John placed the last stitch in Mycroft's side, Amelia and Sherlock stood by the counter and discussed the ramifications of burning the house down. "Whoever it was, they will be out for blood" muttered Sherlock. "You should have let me go instead."

Amelia handed Sherlock a cup of tea. "We've already discussed this; you going in my stead would have just pissed them off more."

Sherlock scoffed into his cup. "As opposed to blowing the house up?"

Mycroft winced as he worked his shirt over his torso. "Stop exaggerating, Sherlock. I merely rigged the gas line to start a very quick and intense fire. There were no explosions. Therefore, I could not have blown the house up."

Amelia cut in. "It really doesn't matter how we reduced that place to ash. We humiliated the boss. Now, it is only a matter of time before she seeks revenge. We need to figure out when and where." She watched John gather his supplies and walk upstairs to put his kit away. "Excuse me a moment."

She followed him upstairs and closed the door to his bedroom. "John, I…"

John silenced her by throwing his arms around her and pressing his face into her hair. Amelia could feel how badly he was shaking. "Just shut up. You aren't sorry because if you hadn't gone, they would have done worse to Mycroft. Things are progressing and they are only going to get worse before they get better. I know all of this, so please, just shut up and let me just hold you."

Amelia let John relax into her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and back and pressed kisses into his hair. They stood like that for about five minutes, until John was no longer shaking and Amelia's heart stopped racing. John moved his lips to Amelia and kissed her deeply as they slowly untangled. Once they parted, breathing slightly harder than normal, Amelia ran her hand down John's cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into the caress. "Alright now?" she asked.

John opened his eyes. "Never better."

He opened the door and they made their way back to the sitting room, where Sherlock and Mycroft undoubtedly migrated. Walking down the stairs, Amelia ventured "Do you think we'll ever have a moment where we are just a couple that isn't constantly getting killed?"

Without hesitating, John responded "God, I hope so. I don't know how much more constant stress my heart can take."

True to their nature, Mycroft and Sherlock sat in the armchairs, waiting for John and Amelia to emerge but steadfastly ignoring them. Sherlock spoke first. "Clearly, the next move will be on the bakery. The boss will want to hurt Mycroft the most and eliminate Amelia at the same time. It won't happen right away, they'll wait until they assume that Amelia is not expecting it."

Amelia sat at the couch, John was next to her. "So starting in two days, I will make a habit of 'relaxing' in front of the window at my usual morning break. That way, I can keep checking outside for anyone casing the bakery. Mycroft just put in those new cameras in the alley, so we'll have all of the entrances covered."

Mycroft uncomfortably cleared his throat. "I didn't put in any cameras."

Silencing him with a stare, Amelia laughed. "Don't play dumb. I saw Gus the other day with his toolbox."

Looking glum, Mycroft nodded in admittance. "So we're clear. They will be targeting the bakery next. I will have men on standby. Once we diffuse the threat, Amelia, you need to let us know exactly what happened. Can you do that? You tend to forget."

Brushing off Mycroft's insult, Amelia said "Of course I can. But I don't think they are going to stop at the bakery. It will be the first of two steps. Mostly, the attack on the bakery is just going to be a warning and to assess how hard I can fight. The next step is to isolate me somehow and take me hostage. Their mistake was taking the wrong Holmes, so they are going to fix it."

John discreetly placed his hand on Amelia's lower back and ignored Sherlock's glare. "How do you think they are going to go about that?"

Amelia considered it for a moment before replying. "They are going to start by taking out the cameras within a two block radius of bakery and hiding in there, probably the bathroom, until Jane leaves. Then they are going to use the spare key to get into the flat and wait for me. We have to keep Shay safe."

Mycroft looked up. "Let me take care of that."

Skeptical, Amelia gazed at her oldest brother. "Are you sure? I want to know what you are planning."

"Just leave it to me, sister. No harm will fall on your dear flatmate." His tone was calm, but not reassuring.

Rather than argue, Amelia chose to focus on the rest of the plans. "So they are going to be in the flat, but probably won't do anything unless I am alone. How am I going to let you all know that I am being abducted as I am, you know, being abducted?"

Silence. Sherlock gazed at each person, trying to figure out how to communicate without being caught. He gave them a full minute before letting out an annoyed huff. "Am I the only one who can see the clear answer?" Three pairs of eyes looked at him curiously. "There is no way to contact us once you are facing your attacker, but there are options beforehand."

Amelia looked incredulously at Sherlock. "So I need to alert you guys that I am being attacked before I am actually being attacked? Sorry to admit it, but my prophecy skills are on the blink."

"Don't be ridiculous. All you need to do is be alert. Pay attention to how you are feeling and try to recall everything that you see, even if it is a small detail. Once you realize what you are about to walk into, just let one of us know and we will alert the others."

While Mycroft and John stared with bemusement, Amelia considered Sherlock's plan. "I think I understand what you are saying. But what do I say? Pretty sure 'hey, I'm going to get my ass kicked in t-minus 30 seconds' would not go over well."

Sherlock leaned back in his seat, thinking of a phrase that Amelia would not typically use, but would sound natural to an eavesdropper. Mycroft spoke up first. "What about 'I love you'? No one else would think twice about another person saying it and we all know that Amelia is practically allergic to talking about her feelings so blatantly."

"Fuck off, Mycroft." Amelia launched a pillow at Mycroft's head.

Mycroft easily leaned out of the path of the flying throw pillow. "You see? Now, once Amelia gives us the head's up, this is what we need to do…"

A bucketful of ice cold water roused Amelia up from her unconsciousness. Amelia kept her eyes closed, but took in her surroundings using her other senses. _I'm tied to a chair with rope, hemp, actually. It's cold and drafty-either I'm in an under insulated structure or a basement. Basement seems more likely as it would provide some amount of soundproofing. There are only two people in the room, one in front of me and the other is behind me, towards the back corner. Based on the more earthy smells, I am probably out in the country. There is also a smell of sanitation, someone has been cleaning tools. _A feeling of dread came over Amelia. _So I am to be tortured. Fantastic. _She used her tongue to feel her back molar, or rather, the fake tooth that she typically inserts back there. Some years ago, a sucker punch had knocked out the actual tooth, so Amelia got into the habit of putting in a fake tooth that, when cracked open, released a powerful pain reliever. She decided to wait until the pain became unbearable before resorting to taking the drug. There was no way to determine how long they would take with the torture methods. A typically skilled interrogator could inflict extreme pain for hours without worrying about the victim dying of blood loss.

Finally, Amelia raised her head and opened her eyes. A woman in her early 30's stood in front of her with a towel in her hands and a contrite expression on her face. Her hair was pulled back, but Amelia could tell that it was either a dark red or brown color, most likely from a salon. Her clothing, a pair of jeans and a jumper, looked like a designer brand. The woman squatted down and tried to dry Amelia off. "Sorry about that, but I was getting worried. You've been out for over a day."

Amelia knew right away that the woman was lying. Considering that the smell of her perfume still lingered on her neck, Amelia figured that she was unconscious for no more than an hour. "I find it quite endearing that you are nursing me back to health before you start your torturing, Annie. But if you don't mind, I'd rather not waste our time."

Annie sneered at Amelia. "My dear, I don't think you are in the position to negotiate."

Amelia snickered. "Bitch, please, I've been calling all the shots since that night on the roof of the church."

**SMACK** Amelia's head rolled back. A handprint was quickly forming on her cheek. Annie stood smugly in front of her bound captive. But Amelia was not to be outdone. "Oh please, baby, can I have some more? You know how to slap a girl like she needs it." She winked.

Annie grabbed Amelia by the hair and pulled her head back. It wasn't until that moment that Amelia realized that Annie had a knife in her hands. _Perfect, I bet she is feeling quite confident at this moment. _Handling the knife like a professional, Annie cut open Amelia's purple top and dragged the blade under Amelia's collarbone. Amelia grunted in pain and writhed away, more as a way to determine if her mobile was in her pocket rather than trying to get away from the knife. It was still there. "So why sell people? A woman of your means should be able to make money in a much less gruesome manner."

Cutting into Amelia's skin once again, only this time right above her navel, Annie explained. "It's not like I'm _killing _people. I leave that disdainful task for mongrels like you. These individuals are starving in their home countries. I purposely pick the ones who are the most poor. You'd think they would be more grateful for a steady job and a roof over their heads!"

The knife moved from her stomach to her sternum. "Perhaps they are a little put off by the lack of choice. I hear people tend to prefer to have a free will. Also, I don't mean to speak out of turn, but why exactly are you cutting into me? It's not like I have any information that you want."

Annie's eyes briefly filled with tears before a dead look settled over them. "Simple, you broke someone very dear to me and I want you to feel all the pain that you've put us through."

She set the knife onto a tray to Amelia's right. Sneaking a glance, Amelia saw all the standard tools of torture: blades, matches, various beakers with liquid, forceps, needles, and other goodies that Amelia could not quite make out in the dim light. At the moment, Annie was putting on extra rings for one hand and grabbing a cylindrical container in the other. Amelia figured that if Annie was in a talking mood, she would milk it for all it was worth. "Dash? You do realize that he was banging someone else right? Using the money that you sent to him to buy his other girlfriend jewelry?"

Annie's slightly neurotic smile never left her face as she punched Amelia directly in the face, the rings cutting into her left cheek. With little hesitation, she poured out salt from the container and rubbed it onto the new cut. Amelia figured it was time to take her pain killer. As she swallowed, using her blood as an aide to get the pill down, she sneered at Annie. "Pouring salt on the wound, eh? I can return that in kind."

"Just shut up!" Annie screamed. "Dash would never betray me like that!"

Amelia braced herself for the next hit, a side swipe to her right kneecap. She hissed out a breath. _Oh, that will smart tomorrow._ "Now, the gifts that you gave him did that come from your earnings as the head of human trafficking or did you steal that from your husband?"

Annie let out a barking laugh. "Like Edwin would ever part with any money without seeing a receipt for it. No, my business was booming these days. I didn't need that old man except to make contacts with clients. Who knew that the focus of trafficking remained on sex workers instead of laborers? No one cares that their cell phones were made by slaves as long as they think they are getting their money's worth. Pathetic fools."

"That was Channarong's specialty, wasn't it? Manufacturing as well as sex trading? I bet that was your most lucrative partner." Amelia winced as Annie set the salt down, only to pick up the matches.

Annie studied Amelia's long fingers, deciding which one to start with. As she found Amelia to be quite offensive, she chose the right middle finger. Lighting a match, she held it to Amelia's finger. Annie delighted in Amelia's cry of pain. "Actually, no, McCarthy made me so much more money with the selling of babies. I cannot stress the need for white infants in this world for unfortunate barren couples." Lighting another match, Annie continued to burn Amelia's fingers. "I mean, really, it may be all the rage to rub your obviously adopted child in other people's faces but what about those who want people to believe that they birthed them on their own? You can't do that with a child from Ethiopia, unfortunately."

While Amelia was happy to hear Annie so forthcoming with her information, she had the sneaking suspicion that Annie was going to kill her, so what Amelia learned was irrelevant. But there was one question that she wanted answered. "Why did you pick me to kill your partners?"

With her hands on her hips, Annie appeared shocked and offended. "Honestly, Amelia, how could I not? We are practically the same person."

Amelia wanted to argue that, but deep down, Annie was right. They both were in businesses that were slightly illegal at best. They both rationalized their behavior as something that would enhance the world. Both were unafraid to get their hands dirty. "So why didn't you just approach me? Why threaten Mycroft and keep me in the dark?"

Annie paused. Amelia was not sure if it was because of her question or because she ran out of fingers to singe. "I wanted to see you in action without you knowing why you were performing such acts. If you hadn't stuck your nose where it didn't belong, I was going to offer you a position as my right hand woman. You should have seen yourself taking out those men. It was truly an art. I would have been eternally grateful to have you by my side. But you just had to ask questions and now I have to kill you. Pity."

"Sorry, lady, I already have a job."

"Hm, yes, I suppose. Those goods from your little bakery are quite tasty. But that was just a sparkly distraction that Mycroft dangled in front of you to keep you behaving. Aren't you sick of being constantly controlled by the men in your life? We could have done great things, Amelia." Annie shook her head in disappointment.

"What makes you think that I would have wanted to work for you?" The pain killer was starting to kick in just in time for Annie to pull out a collection of needles. "I prefer to know who I am killing, so yes, I would have asked questions. You didn't want a right hand woman. You wanted another little pet, a dangerous girl pet to do your bidding. One other person tried to make me theirs. He actually tried for 12 years and you know what happened? I fucking killed him."

With a confident hand, Annie started to stick the needles in Amelia's body. A line starting at her stomach and lining up to her throat. Another few in each arm and leg. The needles were too small to cause major bleeding, but they hurt a lot. Or at least, they were made to hurt. The stinging sensation was dulled to a tolerable degree, though Amelia exaggerated to give the impression that she was truly being tortured. Annie, believing Amelia's act, smiled contently. "Yes, you managed to convince a man to not kill you by using your body. How easy and predictable. But you are still the one tied to a chair and I am the one with multiple ways to kill you not six inches from me."

Annie picked up a hypodermic needle. "Now, I do think our little chat is over. Might we resume this later? I'd like to get a little catnap in and come back refreshed."

She sunk the needle into Amelia's arm and emptied the contents into her bloodstream. The results were instantaneous. Amelia's vision started to blur and go dark. Her last thought before she succumbed was an idle wish that the drugs would not interact. It would take a lot to get vomit out of her wool trousers.


	18. Chapter 18

When John arrived at Baker Street, he noticed that Mycroft and Anthea had already arrived. With a quick greeting to Mrs. Hudson, he ran up the stairs and into his flat. Anthea was pacing in the kitchen, her thumbs racing over the keyboard of her mobile. Mycroft was sitting on the couch, back completely straight and hands tapping impatiently on the cushion. Only Sherlock looked remotely relaxed. As he plucked at his violin strings, making sure they were tuned, he stared at the fire. John had paused in the doorway. "What have I missed?"

Mycroft glanced at the doctor. "Not much, Anthea is tracking the GPS signal, but it has been taking longer than expected. She already set up the recording app on Amelia's phone. So if Amelia is conscious, she would be able to get whoever took her, hopefully Annie, to divulge necessary information."

John relaxed enough to slump into his armchair. "And if she isn't conscious?"

"She will be." Sherlock surmised as he put his violin away. "Even if Mrs. Cooper did not do the actual abduction, she will be the one who Amelia is delivered to. Amelia has thwarted her plans more than once, she is going to be eager to rough her up a bit and flaunt her supposed win. Amelia is a smart woman, she will keep her talking."

Anthea walked into the sitting room. "They took Amelia to Ipswich, just outside of Chantry Park. It will take almost two hours to get there and they have a 45 minute head start, if they took a car."

John stood up. "We better hurry then."

"No."

John stared at Mycroft in disbelief. "What do you mean no?"

Sherlock came to his brother's defense. "If we get there too early, there is no hope that we can stop Annie. Yes, we will get Amelia out of danger, temporarily. John, you need to be smart about this. If there is not enough evidence, we cannot stop Annie Cooper. She will keep going after Amelia until Amelia kills her, accidentally or not. Then the media will swoop in and Amelia will be the one in prison, not Annie."

"But what if we are too late?"

John watched as Sherlock's expression changed from calming to devastated and then blank. He then looked over to Mycroft and noticed that he was still tapping his fingers on the cushion. It wasn't until that moment he realized what sort of internal struggle Sherlock and Mycroft were facing. Every part of John's brain was screaming at him to get to Ipswich and save Amelia, so why would her brothers be any less torn? He held his hands up, placating the Holmes brothers. "Nevermind. We can't think about that possibility right now."

"It's quite alright, John." Mycroft said, standing. "I do not see any issue with getting there and being prepared. Just promise you won't do anything reckless."

John nodded in agreement. Anthea went downstairs to get the car and Sherlock walked into his bedroom to collect…something. John was about to walk out of the door when an umbrella blocked his path. Mycroft stood to the left of him, the aforementioned umbrella in his right hand. The red haired man grimly studied John. "I trust you in this situation, John. I know from your days in the Army that you are able to follow instructions and can stealthily enter a building, which will come in handy this evening. But do not assume that my implicit trust in you will continue as you are dating Amelia. Now, she is an adult and is free to make her own choices. I appreciate that you accept her for her entire personality and do not want her to change. However, if you try to turn her into someone that resembles your former wife or make her feel shameful about anything, and I mean _anything_, rest assured I will personally see to it that you are dismembered and no one will ever find a single piece of you. Also know that Sherlock will be standing next to me, probably pouting that he can't join in. And yes, I will thoroughly enjoy it."

Looking Mycroft in the eye, John refused to submit to the man's admittedly terrifying threats. "I don't care that you don't like the idea of me dating Amelia, but like you said, she is a consenting adult. She is nothing like Mary, nor will I ever want her to be. There is a simple reason for why I accept Amelia for who she is: I love her. I love that she is cynical and seeks out adventure, even if it means that she puts herself in danger. I love that she does this because I do the same. I also know that she is incredibly sweet and loves her family and friends dearly. She will do anything for you or Sherlock, no questions asked. I think the recent events have proven this. So, Mycroft fucking Holmes, I have news for you. If you think you can use Amelia like you have, and I know fully well that she will continue to help you with your dirty business, but if you think for one bloody moment that you will lie to her about who she is targeting, I will destroy you."

The two men continued to glare at each other. Sherlock had emerged from his room, but remained in the kitchen as John and Mycroft had their proverbial pissing match. Once he was sure they were done, Sherlock breezed through them. "Anthea has the car out front. By the way, that woman is a big fan of Amelia. So if either of you do something to my little sister, I would be much more worried about what Anthea is plotting than either of you."

Amelia found herself being roused for a second time. "I suppose your little powernap is done. Either that or you had a wonderful idea and wish to share."

She opened her eyes and was surprised to see Dash in front of her. His eyes seethed with rage as he gripped a hammer in his hands. Since he was sitting in a wheelchair, they were eye level with each other. "I should have known that you would scoot over to exact your revenge when your master is otherwise preoccupied."

Even in the weak light, Amelia could see Dash's face burn deeper. Without any preamble, Dash swung the hammer around and hit Amelia in the head. Amelia's head whipped around and she saw that it was only her and Dash in the room. Her scalp burned as she felt blood rolling down her face. "Well that was stupid. Why go through the hassle of waking me up when you are just going to knock me out again?"

"You fucking bitch!" Dash screamed as he swung the hammer again, this time it landed on the cut on Amelia's collarbone. "I am not stopping until you beg for mercy."

Amelia giggled through the blinding pain. Clearly, her pain killer wore off. "Then I guess you'll be waiting a while."

His reply was to smash Amelia's feet. Amelia grunted. "It's all part of the business, Dash. You need to stop being so emotional when things don't go your way. Your bones will heal, but if you keep trying to get your enemies to submit to you, you'll be dead before next year."

Frustrated, Dash threw the hammer across the room. He grabbed Amelia's knees and put his face close to hers. "Get out of my head!"

His behavior reminded Amelia of a five-year old who had his favorite toy taken away. But then his anger was replaced by a look of calculation. Amelia looked down and realized that she was still only wearing her bra, which had become see-through with all the blood. _Oh fuck, not this again._ Amelia's mind began racing with potential defensive moves. Dash untied Amelia's arms and retied them to the armrests of his wheelchairs. He then removed the bindings from her legs and leaned in to loosen her trousers. Amelia looked over Dash's head and calculated how far the tray of weapons was from them. Once she was only in her pants, Amelia allowed herself to be dragged to Dash's chair. She waited until he began to rut against her, his eyes slowly closing with the sensation. Amelia let out a small moan and fixed her expression to one of shock and embarrassment. Dash fell for it immediately. Smiling, he grabbed her hips and tilted his head back.

Amelia worked quickly. She brought her head down, cracking it against Dash's. The sudden pressure to his forehead caused Dash's neck to bend unnaturally against the back of the wheelchair. Using the time Dash will need to recover; Amelia reached out with her leg and picked up a sharp knife between her toes. She swung her foot to her right hand, which grabbed the knife, and Amelia quickly cut through the rope. As soon as her right hand was free, Dash realized what was happening and tried to grab her. Amelia took her right foot and pressed it to Dash's throat, thanking Molly for insisting that they attend regular yoga lessons. She made small work of the rope around her left hand and hopped off the wheelchair.

As she made her way to the door, Amelia called out. "Seriously, Dash. Emotions just make this business harder."

She heard Dash wheel his way towards her. "I'll never stop hunting you, bitch. I will wear your stomach as a fucking hat."

Amelia turned quickly and threw the knife. It landed neatly between Dash's eyes. "No need to be unpleasant, sir."

As she studied the fresh corpse, a new idea formed in her head.

John, Sherlock, Mycroft, and Anthea were standing in the field, about 10 meters from the old Victorian house, using the darkness as camouflage. Anthea had a Bluetooth attached to her ear that she was using to listen in to what Amelia's mobile was recording. "She's awake and now alone in the cellar. We'll have to go in quietly though, I don't know where Annie is in the house."

Sherlock pointed out a partially opened window towards the rear of the house. A single curtain was blowing slowly in the wind. "I'll bet that was deliberate." He moved his hand and pointed to a closed window. "That was isn't. The man that was in the cellar with Amelia must have left, so we can watch for any light."

Anthea shook her head. "He isn't coming out of there. The unfortunate Mr. Dash tried to seek revenge and Amelia got the best of him. Sherlock, you and John go to the closed window but do not attempt to enter until you hear gunshots. Mycroft, you and I will cover the open one and create a diversion. Get into the basement, get Amelia, and get out."

No one was in disagreement with Anthea and quickly moved to their assigned spots. Once Anthea and Mycroft were certain the other two men had moved into position, they started their plan. Anthea climbed onto the log she dragged with and stuck her head in the window, ducking down almost immediately. "Four" was all she said.

Mycroft flattened his back to the wall and braced himself for the men who would inevitably round the corner. Anthea began to shoot into the window with one gun and aimed at the other side of the building with her other. Once John and Sherlock heard the shouts and shots, they worked together to get the window open. Sherlock then boosted John up and through the open window. John landed inside and leaned out to help Sherlock scramble up. Finding themselves in the kitchen, they quickly located the stairs to the cellar. It was quiet. The silence unnerved both men as they made their way down.

The cellar must have been renovated, though the term should be used very loosely. John and Sherlock studied the new wall that separated a single room from the rest of the subspace. They took positions on either side of the door. Locking eyes, John reached over to the doorknob, twisted, and pushed the door open. Still silence. Sherlock braved a glance into the room before standing in the frame. John peered in and saw a nearly naked and bloody Amelia crouching at the ground. They heard indignant groans from inside the room and saw Annie Cooper tied to a chair. Sherlock immediately deduced that Amelia wheeled Dash's dead body to sit immediately in front of the chair that she was originally tied to. Judging from the gun that was lying on the ground, when the gunshots started, Annie ran down here, intending to kill Amelia. She was shocked to see Dash in place of Amelia, who was actually hiding against the wall. There was a struggle and Annie managed to coldcock her with the gun. Amelia held out long enough to punch her in the temple, dazing the woman. She tied her up quickly, but the effects of being tortured and drugged overcame his sister. Sherlock took off his jacket and gently draped it around Amelia. She murmured a thank you and tried to stand. John immediately stepped in and picked Amelia up. He carried her, bridal style, up the stairs. Sherlock took one last look at Annie Cooper and committed her face to memory. Then he grinned at the bound woman and waved his fingers at you. "I know some _very _interesting folks in prison that are just aching to meet you."

At his parting words, Sherlock followed John and Amelia upstairs.


	19. Chapter 19

Sherlock placed his bullets into his nightstand and made sure to lock it this time. He pondered for a moment on the irony of the whole situation. After they left the house in Ipswich, Mycroft was insistent that Amelia stay at Baker Street until her wounds healed. John quickly voiced his support, saying that she needed to be close for observations. Amelia was in too much pain to disagree, but after two days, she was practically climbing the walls in boredom. He sat on the couch next to his sister and together they watched the evening news. Thanks to Anthea, the voice recording of Annie Cooper admitting to leading a human trafficking ring was delivered to a trusted journalist friend. All of the other media outlets were tripping over themselves to get a hold of the clip. Further investigation by Lestrade and his team, even though it was not their division, uncovered a convincing paper trail that connected Cooper to Channarong, Montase, McCarthy, Gonzales, and Janashah.

As Amelia watched the ongoing news releases, she realized that several of those men's people would also be arrested. She wondered how many of them would be sharing a prison with Cooper. Even if there was only one, Amelia gave Cooper about 6 hours before she was killed, a full day if one of the contacts had to alert someone already on the inside. Mycroft spun a clever story about how Cooper killed Dash and tried to kill of the rest of her team so they would not turn against her to keep the media attention off the Holmes family. Edwin Cooper's face filled the screen as he spun the scandal to his favor, acting as the victim whose wife used him for these disgusting deeds. Sherlock snorted and turned off the telly. "Always trust a famous figure to spin a tragedy into a way to get positive attention."

Amelia nodded, mindful of the stitches in her head. Sherlock studied her for a moment. "Do you need another Vicodin?"

She shook her head. "I hate that it makes me feel hazy. It's even worse when I haven't slept."

"Have your nightmares gotten worse?"

"Not really, but they haven't gotten better either. For some reason, they make me more scared and on edge than when I was actually there." Amelia struggled not to yawn.

Sherlock did not need to say that he understood, Amelia saw it all in his eyes. "It's typical. That night, you were running on sheer adrenaline and you would not let yourself think emotionally. Your brain needed to catch up."

"Does it get better?"

Sherlock thought briefly about the dreams that he still had post-Reichenbach. "Yes. They don't go away completely, but you are able to process them better so you are able to go back to sleep. It helps to share a bed with someone comforting."

"I don't care how comfortable your silk sheets are. I am not sharing a bed with you." Amelia shot Sherlock a look of disgust.

Sherlock was equally disgusted. "Not me, idiot, don't you have a boyfriend who just so happens to be well-versed in post-traumatic symptoms?"

"I thought you hated the idea that I was dating John."

"Well, I may have started to hate it a little less."

Amelia was stunned. "What happened?"

Sherlock tried to look disgruntled. "What makes you think that something needed to happen? It is possible that I am just coming around to the situation at hand? It's not like you would break up with him just because I disapproved."

"Yes, something happened. If nothing happened, you would have just said no. So, again, what happened?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sherlock wondered what it was like to be an only child. He bet it was wonderful and quiet. He looked at his little sister, smiling despite what had occurred in the last two weeks, hell, the last 14 years. Maybe there was something to having siblings. "He stood up to Mycroft."

"He did what?"

"Mycroft tried to insinuate that a most painful ending would befall on him if he tried to hurt you or change who you were. John threw those words back in his face without any hesitation. That man is going to protect you with everything he has, even if it is from me or Mycroft. So yes, I might be warming up to your relationship. But this still doesn't mean that, what the hell are you doing to me?"

"It's called a hug." Amelia tightened her wrapped arms around Sherlock.

"But I am not distressed."

"They also come in handy when you are happy as well."

Sherlock remained frozen for a moment before placing his hands carefully on Amelia's back and returning the hug. They parted. "We don't need to tell anyone that we did that." Sherlock said.

"It'll go to my grave."

They sat in silence for another half hour. Sherlock was about to offer to make tea when they heard Mycroft's voice on the stairs. "Um, hello. I hope that these last few days have been going well for you. They have? Good. Amelia should be available for visitors by this evening, I am about to check on her now. Do you know what time you think you'll come around? 6? I should still be here as well. Yes, I look forward to it."

When Mycroft remained on the stairs after the call ended, Amelia and Sherlock fought back peals of laughter. "Who was that?" Sherlock whispered.

"Shay. Oh, god, Mycroft is trying to woo my flatmate!" Amelia held a hand to the wound on her stomach and she fought not to start giggling.

"He might be trying to woo your flatmate, but he is making a fool of himself in front of my therapist." Sherlock groaned with realization.

Amelia pumped a fist in the air. "Called it!" She whisper shouted.

"Yes, you did. You are very smart. Shut up." Sherlock gestured for Amelia to sit back as Mycroft's footsteps started up the stairs.

Sherlock and Amelia managed to hide their expressions of glee and turn the telly back on as Mycroft entered the flat. Mycroft studied his younger siblings. "How are you feeling today, Amelia?"

Amelia glanced at her brother, smiling. "Almost one hundred percent, can I go home now?"

Mycroft tapped his umbrella against the floorboards, pretending to consider Amelia's question. "I would feel better if you stayed here another night. You had a lot of trauma to your head and I want to be certain that you won't be suffering ill-effects without having a qualified medical professional nearby."

"But I miss Shay. She must be out of her mind with worry that I am not home." Amelia did not miss the glint in Mycroft's eye when she brought up her flatmate.

He smiled indulgently. "I've been keeping her posted. Yes, she is still quite worried, but I can arrange for her to come by this evening if it helps."

Amelia had to pinch herself to keep from accusing Mycroft of having less than noble intentions with Shay. "That would be wonderful, thank you, Mycroft."

"No problem, Amelia, it is good to see you happy again." Mycroft tried not to mention Amelia's dark mood from the last two days.

"I can't help it, the woman is practically my surrogate mother."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Oh? I thought she would be more of a sister type."

Amelia blinked with (faked) innocence. "You didn't know? Shay is 42, but she takes really good care of herself."

She saw the corners of Mycroft's mouth threaten to perk up. "I didn't realize."

Sherlock took the bait. "Wait, if Shay is 42, which would make her older than me. Actually, she would only be a few years younger than you are, Mycroft. And she hasn't even had any work done."

Mycroft had to look down at his feet to cover the emerging excitement that he was feeling. He quickly cleared his throat. "That is quite astounding. I'd hate to change the topic, but I have to speak with you, Amelia about a different matter." He shot a look at Sherlock. "Alone."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Anything for the British Government, if you need me, I'll be at St. Barts."

Mycroft perched onto the armchair that was across from Amelia. "Are you really alright?" His eyes were searching and concerned.

It was a very rare occasion that Mycroft allowed himself to show what he was feeling. Amelia relaxed and responded. "Yes, now that I know Annie is going to pay for what she did, I'm feeling much better."

Finally showing a genuine smile, Mycroft sat back. "Good. And I am proud of you for fighting on the good side for once. That is actually what I wanted to talk to you about. It was out of wishful thinking that I asked you to stop your assassination business, but how about you change sides? I need a trustworthy gunman on my payroll."

Amelia was trying to wrap her mind around what Mycroft was offering. "Are you asking me to give up the bakery?"

"Goodness no. I wouldn't need you that often. Just, on a rare occasion, I may find myself in need of someone that I can rely on with extremely sensitive information and tasks. You question everything, Amelia, which is a wonderful skill. You are able to see discrepancies that most people, including myself, may miss from time to time. There won't be any spy work, nothing extraordinarily illegal or otherwise. You don't have to answer right away, but I would like you to consider my offer."

Before Amelia could ask any more questions, Mycroft stood. "I do have another appointment, but I will return tonight. We will discuss this once you are completely healed."

Mycroft swept out of the flat, greeting John as he arrived back from work. John nodded coolly at the man before greeting Amelia with a light kiss. "Hello, love."

Amelia kissed him back and watched as he checked her stitches. Perhaps it would not be terrible to be on the side of the angels. Someone has to do the dirty work for them.


End file.
